


The Night Flowers

by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Courtesan AU, Explicit Sex, Kushiel fusion, M/M, Rimming, Tattooed Stiles, Tattoos, courtesan stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:10:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphim_grace/pseuds/DarkAthena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A love story told over five nights.</p><p>Written for TW Big bang</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in Jacqueline Carey's "Kushiel" universe of Terre D'Ange. Stiles was raised by Peter in the tradition of the Night Flower courtesans, after he bought Stiles just before his dedication. He is of no house, and wants this because it means he will be self sufficient and owes them no debt. His guardian sold him to House Orchis after his mother died suddenly- his father is away at war and did not know, but then could not afford to buy him back. Peter Hale bought him as a companion to Cora and agreed to him joining the service of Namaah. A person in the service of Namaah is called an Adept.
> 
> I am reliably informed that the pronunciation of Stiles' "name" in this is Sta-ishu (where the u is dropped, so instead of ish, it's like it would be in Japanese where it's said but sublimated, like the p in loup garou, you sort of half say it)
> 
> Side note: the Scent that Stiles wears is Loup Garou by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab (blackphoenixalchemylab.com) they have plenty of werewolf based scents and I thought this one suited him more than the musky other ones. I recommend you check them out, because they are amazing
> 
> Written for [Teen Wolf Big Bang ](http://teenwolf-bb.livejournal.com/profile)  
> Art by [Ared Blush](http://aredblush.livejournal.com/91579.html)
> 
> You can find my tumblr [ here](http://athenadark.tumblr.com/)

The boy sat on the edge of the wide bed like an offering in a white linen shift that ended at mid knee, and gathered between his collar bones with a golden ribbon. He was in that stage between manhood and boyhood that held nothing but promise where his limbs were long and slender, yet to thicken, and his face still had the vestiges of his childhood. He was beautiful, however, beyond the tenderness of his age, enough that he made Derek's mouth go dry and the hairs on the backs of his arms stand up, almost in ovation. Derek wanted to swallow despite himself, a dry mouth, and a lump in his throat the size of a pomegranate.

 

In the lamplight Stiles' skin had a sort of golden ruddiness, and his eyes looked dark. He had put gloss on his lips that made them shine wetly. He had opened the shutters against the night sky and the moon was full and bright, almost incandescent in a metallic dark sky giving more light to the dark room. There was a velvet lushness to the grass between the trees as they shuddered in the wind. It was perhaps a little too cold for the shutters to be open to the night but Derek cherished it as the cool air made it easier to think.

 

There was a simple sheet on the bed and fresh bedding piled to the side, there was a blanket over the chair by the fire and a bear skin rug that Derek did not remember in front of the fire. There was food on the table, with a large jug of wine and more bottles on the hearth by the fire, which burned merrily and crackled with inviting pops from salt in the wood, and the rich smell of apple chips. When Stiles saw him he smiled, "you're nervous," he said, "why? have you never done this before?"

 

Derek swallowed again, pulling at the collar of his shirt, as it that alone would make it easier to swallow. "Never with an Adept," he said, when he meant never with you. "And aren't you supposed to be the nervous one, you're the virgin."

 

Stiles laughed, it wasn't a mocking sound, "I'm an Adept of the Night Court," he said, "I've been training for this all of my life." He stood up, the fabric of his shift was thin enough that Derek could almost see through it, and he licked his lips again although his mouth was dry and his tongue felt like leather. He could see the slim line of hips, the wider lines of his shoulders, almost at his full man's growth, the tight span of his waist and the thin curves of thigh and the folds of fabric between them. "Why would I be nervous?" He tilted his head to show off those glorious moles, left on his skin like the fingerprints of angels.

 

"What house," Derek stopped, swallowing again with a dry mouth, "what house would you have been?" 

 

The Court of Night Blooming Flowers, or the Night Court, was an institution in Terre D'Ange where the Adepts of Namaah served that most faithful servant of Elua by replicating her service. When Elua wandered the world bringing his word to mankind Namaah had stood beside him and when persecuted by the King of Persis she had lain with him to grant them passage. When they were hungry she had offered her body for sex and in the Court of Night Flowers the practice was repeated and honoured and through sex they found prayer and worship.

 

There were twelve houses, each named after night blooming flowers, and each with a different skill. For a price one could have an Adept, a courtesan, who knew the skills which were desired and served faithfully and joyously in Namaah's name. Each house was represented by a motto and carved upon their door. 

 

And like any other court in the world it was full of it's politics and skulduggery.

 

An Adept served out their indenture, or the debt they owed the house for their training, which was finished when their marque, a full back tattoo, was complete to the house mother, the _Dowayne_ 's, satisfaction, and no time with an Adept was more prized than what Derek was sharing with Stiles now, the first night, the final initiation of an Adept-potential into the Court of Night Blooming Flowers

 

"Orchis." Stiles answers calmly, "Joy in laughter suits me, don't you think?" He brushed past Derek with a light touch to the table with food, leaving a fine mist of scents in his wake, juniper and cypress and sharp eucalyptus as he said the house's motto. The scent suited him. It was not unusual for an Adept to have had a signature scent made, one unique to them that no other could wear until their death. This must have been Stiles'. "Let me get you some wine." His feet were bare on the bear skin thrown in front of the fire as he stood there, and Derek wanted to count the moles on the tops of his feet, to run his hands up the length of his shins, but he felt frozen, immobile, as if turned to stone. "Derek," Stiles said softly as he offered him a cup, "you weren't this nervous yesterday."

 

Yesterday he hadn't been nervous. He'd been sat playing Tsingano dice and drinking brandy with him, they had been sat in one of the wide couches that Derek's uncle Peter favoured, with his legs draped across Derek's thighs, and the two of them had been rather drunkenly laughing as Cora beat them both, quite soundly. But yesterday Stiles had had clothes on over his shift, and stockings, and it wasn't this. "Yesterday wasn't an assignation." Derek said, and took the cup, draining half of it in a single swallow.

 

"Yesterday you kissed me." Stiles corrected him.

 

"Yeah," Derek scratched at his beard, with his right hand in a nervous gesture, "I did."

 

"That's why I agreed when you asked, you know, because you kissed me." Stiles took a mouthful of the wine, it wasn't a seductive move, or a practised one, just a boy drinking wine, he drank it the same way he had drunk it the night before when he had been draped all over Derek and playing dice with him and his sister whilst Peter watched on indulgently going over his accounts. "I'm an Adept, Derek, I can pick and choose my assignations, and I _chose_ you."

 

It was intended to calm Derek, but it didn't, if anything he stiffened up a little more. "Oh, by the twelve." Stiles said, putting down his cup hard enough a little of the wine sloshed out of the side, "for fuck's sake, Derek, we're going to have sex, not arm wrestle the Master of the Straits. It's not that big a deal, you're going to kiss me, and eventually I'm going to ride your cock and put all that theory I know into practise, several times, in several different positions, and I have no idea why the blood is running from your face right now." Stiles actually rolled his eyes, before he looked heavenward for guidance. "Is it that I am an Adept, or is it because it's me? Because seriously, you know me, you've known I was an Adept-potential for months, since you came back to Terre D'Ange, and you've known me since I was twelve, the only thing I can think of right now is you're nervous because I'm an Adept, because despite having the title, there's not a lot adept about me." He cupped Derek's face so that he had to look him in the eye. They were of a height, and Derek wasn't sure when that had happened. "I have an idea," he said then, looking at Derek's mouth like it took everything he had right then not to kiss him, "there's a bath in the other room, by the fire place, how about I bathe you, I studied at Balm House, I studied at all the Houses, jack of all trades master of none really, but I can give you a bath and a massage, and see where we go from there."

 

Balm House was prized for healing and calm, they were taught to bring peace to even the hardest heart. Stiles knew what it would mean to offer to Derek, who had, after his return to Terre D'Ange spent many hours in the company of their Adepts for the slow slide of their hands in massage, or their soft voices when he bathed but he had never lain with one. 

 

Not all assignations were about sex.

 

Derek ducked forward a little and kissed him. "I'd like that." He said.

 

Staś Anafiel D'Hale, more commonly known as Stiles, and raised Adept of House Hale, companion to Lady Coeuravaele Hale, Cora, raised by her uncle Peter, beamed at Theoderic Hale, heir to House Hale and all it's lands, like the sun had come out from behind a cloud to reveal his hawk. 

 

"Go on into the other room, I have to change, this shift is not really designed to help with bathing, I'll look like a drowned rat." He turned and without waiting for Derek to leave tugged the shift up over his head, showing the back of his thigh and his high pert ass. Derek didn't wait any longer, he went into the other room.

 

Derek's uncle had spared no luxury in this either, like the bed, the bath was freshly drawn and lightly scented with the same perfumes Stiles wore, juniper and cypress and sharp eucalyptus, perhaps Stiles had lingered in the water before their assignation, Derek wondered, dipping his fingers in the water which was still pleasantly hot. He stripped quickly, and sat on the small stool over the grate. The entire room had been elevated and underneath the tile floor was a network of tiled channels that led to the garderobe, so the water was easier to dispose of. Peter was proud of it, he had had a lot of the old house revised to feature it, and it had been very expensive. Derek knew he was focussing on these details so he didn't have to think about the fact that Stiles was coming in to bathe him.

 

Derek had been bathed before, the cheapest whore in the town would bathe a man for a penny, and Derek had no real lack of wealth, but there was something unique about it being Stiles, and Stiles was worried it was because he was an Adept when the problem was much easier, it's because he was Stiles.

 

Derek sat on the stool with his back to the door, but looked over his shoulder waiting for Stiles.

 

Stiles came into the room, closing the door behind him, if Derek had thought that the shift he was wearing before was scandalous he should have been outraged by the one he was wearing now. It had clearly been his as a child, because it was barely mid thigh length, tight around his broad shoulders and the short sleeves pushed up around his elbows. "Melissa has been trying to turn this into rags for years," Stiles admitted, taking the copper jug from the sideboard, "but I knew I'd find a purpose for it, I had it all broken in and soft, you should feel the linen here, Derek," he thrust his hip towards Derek, suggesting he feel the fabric which was almost sheer from use, "but it's less likely to get in the way than the new one." He said, "now close your eyes," he poured the water, which was warm as opposed to the hot of the bath, over Derek's head.

 

It was the custom in Terre D'Ange to wash before one soaked, and Stiles knelt on the tile floor behind him in a perfect posture of obeisance and with a small copper bowl and a bar of perfumed soap, lathered up a sea sponge between long fingers. The sea sponge was rough against his skin. It was a pleasant scratch and the soap gave a deliciousness to the drag of it, as Stiles washed him down in competent, comfortable motions, over the splay of his back and down to the cleft of his ass where a deft finger drew a line. "I don't know why you're so nervous," Stiles said as he scrubbed at Derek's shoulders, Derek could feel the heat of Stiles behind him, feel the way he moved, in sinuous motions as he knelt behind him, "it's just sex, and it means I'll get to use all the things I've learned into practise." He scratched his nails down the back of Derek's neck and Derek wanted to purr.

 

From the bowl beside him, although Derek couldn't see as Stiles was kneeling behind him, the soap was brought up to scrub at his scalp, followed by wicked fingers which knew exactly how to scratch his scalp and it felt wondrous. Derek didn't think that anyone had washed his hair since his nurse. He hadn't known how good it felt, and Stiles' fingers were clever and knew exactly what they were doing, because Stiles was an Adept and had been trained for this.

 

Derek had to bite back a moan, "It's getting a bit long back here," Stiles said, even as he scratched and tugged and rubbed at Derek's scalp, "do you want me to cut it?"

 

"You can do that too?" Derek asked, with his head slumped forward.

 

"Who do you think does Peter's?" Stiles asked him, "Jennivere won't, she says it's beneath her, although considering some of the things she does do, I mean with his scars," Derek chuffed a laugh at the unintentional innuendo, "yeah, and Melissa won't, so I do, otherwise he'd be like some sort of wild beast." He scratched through a clump of hair just behind Derek's ear, "he'd be almost as hairy as you."

 

Derek chuffed another laugh at him, "lean your head back, and close your eyes," he heard Stiles scoop water out of the bath to rinse the soap from his hair, then his hand laid gently over his forehead to stop the worst of the soap as he slowly poured the hot water over his head. He then moved around, with the bowl of soapy water in his arms, placed it on the floor and dropped into kneeling, looking like the perfect picture of submission apart from the cheeky smile on his lips – like an Adept of Valerian asking to yield.

 

He leant into Derek, so Derek could almost taste his breath, sweet from wine, as he worked, diligent and determined on the details, bringing the sponge into the creases of his muscles, up into his arm pits, and then, over the plains of his stomach. He took care of his thighs, the backs of his knees and down in between his toes, before he dropped the sponge into the bowl and lathered his hands.

 

Stiles' hands on his cock were torturous because he was literally washing him, pulling the soap along him in long careful pulls from root to crown with a slight twist just before the head, each hand forming a tunnel and starting as the other finished, with the soap as lubricant, before he dropped then down to wash his balls, his fingers drumming them against his palm, and then, as quickly as he started, he lifted the sponge, rinsed most of the soap out of it, and used it to wash the soap from Derek's skin. He paid such close attention that the tip of his tongue was stuck, just a little, out of the right side of his mouth.

 

"There," he said, "now, into the tub, I'll be back in a moment with the shears, do you want a shave too?" Derek just stood up, hard and awkward, and climbed into the tub. "I'll take that as a yes, shall I?" he asked. He was still laughing to himself and shaking his head when he came back with a cloth roll, which he spread out on the counter with the oils and soaps, before taking a small pair of shears. "You know," he said with an impish, conspiratorial smile, "I'm a little worried what the ladies of the court will do when they find out I shaved off your scruff. For that twenty minutes or so before it grows back." Derek laughed as Stiles pulled the wooden stool behind the bath, "now don't move."

 

Stiles hummed to himself as he made quick movements with the comb and shears, using the comb to separate the hairs before the shears snicked shut and cut them. He was careful of his ears and the back of his neck, humming softly and Derek knew that he would have the tip of his tongue peeking again out of the side of his mouth. "There you go," he said, "now dunk." He pushed on the top of Derek's head and Derek sank beneath the water. He just emerged as Stiles came back with the razor and a strop, hooking the stool with his bare foot to bring it around. "Is oil fine, or would you prefer soap?" he asked. Derek mumbled something even as Stiles pulled out a bottle of shaving oil.

 

That it seemed was the source of the cypress, juniper, eucalyptus smell, which made Derek wonder just how much of it had been used that both the bath and Stiles carried the scent so firmly. He liked the idea that he would smell like Stiles until Orthon drew him another bath in the morning.

 

Stiles splashed the oil unto his hands, rubbing them together then leant forward to rub it into Derek's scruff. Derek would not have said he was excessively scruffy, but he didn't quite have a beard, it was just laziness, he was willing to admit, that he didn't want to shave, but didn't want the upkeep of a beard either, so every few days he would shave and then let it grow out again, before it started to get itchy and then it had to go again. It felt good though, to have Stiles long fingers stroking it, he wondered if that could count as reason enough to keep it.

 

Stiles used the razor deftly and with a sort of confidence, moving Derek's head by tweaking his nose, as he dragged the sharp edge along his skin, dipping the blade into the bath to clean it. It didn't take as long as he thought it would either, it seemed to be something Stiles was comfortable with doing, because it was not long after he had started that he was tilting Derek's head back to scrap the razor along his throat. "Why don't you have a valet who will do this for you?" he asked, "you're as bad as your uncle, it's quite disappointing really. You dress well enough, but you're both too lazy to get a hair cut." Derek wanted to laugh but it was not a good prospect, he thought, when someone had a razor against his throat. "Now, there you go." Stiles said finally, rinsing off the blade before he wiped it dry with his shift.

 

He stood up, close enough to Derek that he could see his stomach through the shift, before reaching over him in what had to be a deliberate motion to get a sheet down to dry him. He practically thrust his cock into Derek's freshly shaved face, and Derek knew Stiles was perfectly capable of that kind of manipulation.

 

What Stiles didn't seem to realise was that it was that Derek was nervous because of all the ritual and pomp of lying with an Adept, especially for an Adept's first time, but that it was Stiles and it was Stiles' first time.

 

"Do you need a hand?" Stiles said, with the sheet thrown over his shoulder as Derek went to get out of the bath, he offered him one and Derek let him heave him out of the bath. "Here you go." He threw the balled up fabric at Derek, "I'll be in the other room, come in when you're ready." Derek swallowed again as Stiles walked into the other room, pulling the wet shift over his head and throwing it to the floor, so he walked completely naked to the fire place, long pale hairless limbs, peach warm in the lamp light and Derek was sure if he hadn't been hard from being bathed, he certainly was now.

 

Stiles had pulled the first shift back on, the loose one that fell below his knees, it was deliberate, Derek knew, to give him flashes of nudity, Stiles was trained as an Adept, he had to have knowledge of his own beauty, he was covering it up for two reasons, one he wanted to put Derek at ease, and two he knew how much more powerful the suggestion of nudity was than nudity itself. An Adept would know that, and Derek was learning it fast.

 

This was not Derek's first time with an Adept, it was a common practise in Terre D'Ange that any noble child would be taken to the Night Court to remove them of the trouble of virginity in a country which believed in the simple rule, do as thou wilt but nothing against another's will. There was a certain pride in visiting the Night Court. But it was different lying with an Adept and lying with Stiles. After the fire he had spent long hours with the Adepts of Balm House, but he had not needed to lie with them, instead he had listened to them sing as they stroked the knots from his muscles with steady hands and reassured him that he was alive and that despite his guilt he hadn't died in the fire with his family.

 

He had the wine again, taking a bottle of it from the table and putting it on the small table beside the bed with the oil, "Here," he said pushing one of the cups into Derek's hand, "it's good wine, and it's open, we need to drink it. Then lie on the bed, on your front. I'll give you a massage."

 

Derek swallowed the wine down in two large gulps, it had been sweetened with honey, which made sense, Peter was very proud of his apiary, and Stiles had a notorious sweet tooth. He licked the last of it from his lips as he climbed on the bed knowing full well that Stiles was ogling him as he did so. "I was thinking," Stiles said, "about why you're so nervous, I mean, first of all there's all of this," he swung one leg over the back of Derek's thighs so he was straddling him just behind his ass, "and I understand that this kind of beauty can be daunting." Stiles was teasing and Derek knew it, as he leant forward, uncorked the bottle of oil, the scent was different this time, there were too many scents to quickly recognise anything other than red wine, it was darker, smoky, and not unpleasant as Stiles poured it unto his back. "But maybe it's because I'm an Adept and you think that Peter might be forcing me into this."

 

Derek didn't say anything, he just made a grunt as Stiles' clever fingers started to roam over his back, learning where the knots were.

 

"The thing is Peter didn't want me to be an Adept. I was sold to the Night Court when my mother died, because the woman my mother left me with didn't want to take care of me until my father came home, and my father was never told that she had died, because the three gold pieces they paid for me meant more to her. I know that." He dug his thumbs into the muscle behind the shoulder blade, "and those years were an education, if my mother had lived, and we had continued on my father's salary I would be, at best, a soldier, but I'd probably have sold herbs to the Night Court like my mother did. I might have been able to earn a commission, if I worked hard, and if Elua was on my side I might have got a farm, but then your uncle needed a companion for your sister, and I was a hard fit at the Night Court." His voice was firm and even, "I was educated but too wild for anyone but Orchis House, and too clever for them by far, so it was easier to sell me. And your uncle, for all his faults, has been nothing but good to me." He laughed to himself, "but if I left it that I was Cora's companion, I would face a future in the fields, I would go from being her equal to at best a man who waves at her when she visits at Harvest. I didn't want that, Derek." He stopped again as Derek came apart under his hands, "so I told Peter I wanted to continue with my training, that I wanted Jennivere to train me as an Adept, I wanted to declare myself as a Servant of Namaah, because it means when I finish my Marque I will be your equal."

 

Stiles stopped for a moment. "Until I complete my Marque Peter is my _Dowayne_ , but do you know how many people approached him about buying my first night? De la Courcel and de Montreve have spent the last five months trying to one up each other, Peter was offered enough property to make Hale one of the largest of all the houses, and he turned them down because I didn't want it." He stopped for a moment, his thumbs working the muscle at the back of Derek's neck, "besides if they spent that much I would get the most awful Namaah's gift, if they bankrupted themselves trying to afford Peter's price, there'd be nothing left for me to buy my Marque." He stopped again, slithering down Derek to work at his thighs with his hard, hot hands, pouring more of the oil, "and I know how much he charged you, a single centime." He stopped, knuckling into the back of Derek's knee as he worked, "did you really think that was all I was worth? I offered to make the payment myself when you kissed me yesterday." He started work on the other leg, "Derek, you have got my first night because I wanted you to have it, because I told Peter to give you it, do you understand?"

 

Derek made a noise that might have been from the bonelessness that Stiles had worked on him with his thumbs, "and I bet you're appreciating all that time I spent training with Jennivere now, aren't you?" Stiles moved back, off Derek, Jennivere was an Adept of Balm House who had come the manor after the fire to tend to Peter's burns and now she served Derek's uncle because they had come to a mutual agreement. She had become part of the household in the role of Peter's mistress, but Derek didn't spend much time with her. He found her to be manipulative with a cruel sense of humour – but that suited his uncle well. "Now turn over."

 

"It's not why, Stiles," Derek said, "it's not that you're an Adept.

 

"Then why?" He asked, lifting Derek's foot and working his thumb into the sole, Derek made a noise because of how good it felt.

 

"Because it's you." He said bluntly, "because I want it to be perfect for you, and it's not going to be."

 

Stiles started to laugh, a genuine belly laugh that travelled up Derek's foot as he rocked against it. "Derek," he said through the laughter, "it's sex, it's never going to be perfect, it's going to be messy and involve elbows in places where elbows should not go, and cramps and hair in your mouth and waking up the next morning with bad breath and the taste of god knows what in your mouth and hairs on your tongue. It's about two people coming together to praise Namaah, and through her Elua, with love and pleasure and to put into place all those things that I have learned, to yield, and be yielded to, and that's why it's going to be perfect, because you care enough to worry," he leant forward, dropping Derek's foot and crawled up Derek's legs until his face was just above his sternum, "it's about this," he said and laid his mouth on Derek's skin, but instead of a kiss, that Derek might have expected, he blew a raspberry and Derek couldn't help the belly laugh that came out of him. "When Namaah went to the king of Persis she made him laugh and he loved her in laughter, and that's what sex is, Derek, it's about getting it wrong and laughing about it."

 

He was above Derek's face now, draped along him with the shift tugged up under his elbows, "hey," he said with a smile, his clever tongue reaching out to wet his soft mouth, a stronger man might have been able to resist, to lie there with this beautiful boy draped over him, to be so close to his mouth, to know how brilliant and brave he was, and not kiss him. Derek was not that man.

 

Stiles' mouth was soft and hot and he opened so eagerly to Derek's tongue, as Derek's hands found the fabric of his shift, with Stiles' own around Derek's arms. His eyes were mostly closed so that there was a line of the honey colour of his eyes, and the taste of red wine on those plump lips, and the smell of him, musk underneath the cypress, juniper and eucalyptus that he had chosen, and Stiles hands were slick from the oil he had rubbed into Derek, the one that smelled of musk and red wine, and there was the fire place with it's apple wood chips and it was just everything.

 

He had kissed Stiles before, the previous night when they had been playing dice with Cora, and it was so easy, and it was easy now, now that Derek realised it didn't have to be difficult, that he could do what he wanted, as one hand cupped Stiles head and the other travelled down, over the soft sheer linen, and cupped his ass. Stiles made a noise into his mouth, his tongue peeking out into the kiss and allowing Derek to coax it into his mouth and suck on it softly.

 

Stiles rolled his hips, and then pulled his mouth away, "this has to go," he said, and with his arms crossed for a brief second he pulled the shift up over his head, and threw it away, "Melissa would have both of our hides for throw rugs if you tore it, and I know you were considering it." He punctuated his words with kisses, and Derek knew that he was right, Melissa may have been his sister's nurse, but her word was law in the Hale house. She didn't even seem like the type as she was soft and fond but when she spoke every one in the household obeyed. She was a _Tsingano_ , one of the dark skinned people who were seen in town and treated as less than dirt, but in the Hale Household Melissa was law, even Laura – Lord of the Hale demesnes backed down from Melissa when she spoke.

 

"Less talk of Melissa," Derek said, his hand finding skin, soft and hot and flesh moving under his palm.

 

Stiles laughed into his kisses, his mouth soft and sour with the red wine, as he softly, almost tentatively, rolled his hips. Derek nipped him on the chin when he did it so Stiles gave him a quick moue of displeasure. "Can I try something?" he asked, "something I've wanted to do for so long only Namaah could record it." He licked his lips, "Can I?"

 

And who was Derek to deny him. "You're shaved," Derek pointed out, he knew intellectually that most Adepts were hairless but it was another thing to see it.

 

" _There's_ a story," Stiles said rolling his eyes, as he sat back on his calves, the same kneeling position he had learned from House Valerian with it's motto of “I yield”, but now with shins either side of Derek's thighs, so his ass was sat on Derek's knees. "I was all, look a little bit of hair doesn't go astray but Jennivere pretty much pinned me down and violated me with the razor, look," he raised his arms to show his armpit, "it's not natural, I tell you." And Derek laughed. "And I was worried about _you_ giving _me_ stubble burn," he shook his head, his hands everywhere because Stiles was expressive like that, "not the other way around, but," he schooled his face into a rather fair approximation of Peter's Adept, Jennivere, "an Adept is hairless because they are an instrument of Namaah and she went hairless when she went to the King of Persis." He shook his head, "personally, considering she was travelling, I think she was as hairy as a goat but no one wanted to paint her like that, so hairless, and yeah, it kinda feels nice, here," he grabbed Derek's hand and ran it down his arm, "although it'll probably itch like crotch rot coming back in." He grinned, his smile crawling up one side of his face then the other, then he licked his lips, his fingers moving to Derek's crotch, scratching through the still damp pubic hair from his navel to his balls, "although I think you like this. Do you, Derek, do you like this?"

 

Derek told him that he did. Stiles' expression was impish when he bent down, his breath washing over the crown of his cock, "tell me if I do anything wrong." Stiles wrapped one hand around the base of Derek's cock, bringing it up to his mouth, and started with soft kittenish licks, then he went back to sitting up, licking at his lips, "I'm going to have to move you, the angles are all wrong here, I'm getting cramp." He moved to lying beside Derek, and then used his hands to part his thighs, before he crouched between them, "this should work better," he said and put his mouth back, one hand curled around the base of his cock, and the other curled around his hip.

 

Derek couldn't say he was skilled, but he was eager and he was determined, he used his tongue to form a cushion and bobbed, sucking only when he pulled his mouth off, his hand had tugged down the foreskin and he used a lot of spit, but the very image of Stiles on his knees with his head bobbing, and his eyes meeting Derek's, all honey gold and huge pupils in the lamp light, Derek couldn't have lasted. Derek tried to pull him off but Stiles used his free hand to wave him off, before Derek came in his mouth, Stiles let him, just holding his mouth open, then when he was done, when Derek was still reeling from the aftershocks, Stiles draped himself over the edge of the bed spat into the chamber pot before he washed his mouth out with the wine.

 

"Uh," Stiles said, taking another mouthful of the wine, "that tastes horrible, it's like rennet or raw egg or something, ugh," he emptied the cup.

 

"Then why did you?" Derek asked, he was boneless but he got the impression it wouldn't have made much sense regardless.

 

"Because I wanted to, because I happen to really like the idea of letting you come in my mouth, I happen to like knowing I did that to you, and it was quick, so I couldn't have been that bad at it, what do you think? Did I pass muster?" He had a wide grin, his eyes were crinkled at the corners, so Derek just grabbed his head and pulled him in for a kiss.

 

"Do I want to know where you learned to do that?" he asked against Stiles' mouth.

 

"There may be an artisan in the capital," Stiles whispered in his ear, "whose sole job is the manufacture of porcelain recreations of phalluses." He said, "for the purpose of training Adepts, and satisfying wives who are too much in the public eyes to take a lover without issues from the court, or possessive husbands, or men who are afraid to take a male lover." He tried to look artless but his eyes were mischievous, like honey, sparkling in the lamp light, "and I might have a few of them, in different sizes and colours."

 

"Do I want to know how an Adept trained outside the Night Court learns of these things?"

 

Stiles went to say something but Derek cut him off with "Jennivere," as Stiles said "Melissa." He leaned down to take a kiss from Derek's mouth, "I have a few other secrets from the Night Court, you know." He turned and moved to the small cabinet beside the bed and pulled out a small enamelled tin, the design on it was a columbine flower twisted through a triskelion, Derek realised he was one of the first to see the design that Stiles would have as his marque. "Melissa has her secrets as a _Tsingano_ , and I'm not asking, because she'll just twist my ear again, but here," he handed the tin to Derek who opened it.

 

Derek had heard of the pharmacopoeia of the Night Court, pills that would enhance or delay pleasure, those that softened men and wettened women, there were drugs for all sorts of purposes, and Stiles as an Adept could purchase them, so that was what he was expecting, instead if was a milky looking jelly. "Unless you don't want that," Stiles looked shy then, "I mean, I know some people would consider me blowing you to be everything, but we have all night." Derek sort of boggled, inside the tin was Namaah's Kiss, a very rare and expensive lubricant. "I think there's enough there, I can always go down to the kitchen and get more if we need it, but I just thought," he rubbed the back of his hand with his head, his erection sitting sweetly on his thighs where he was kneeling, "well, I thought you'd like to plow me."

 

Derek swallowed, his cock, recently sated, started to twitch it's interest, "I mean," Stiles continued, "if you want to, you don't have to," now it was Stiles' turn to be nervous. "I just thought, well,"

 

"Stiles," Derek said and pulled Stiles across for a kiss, "I would be honoured." He nipped at the lips in front of him, soft and sweet like summer peaches drizzled in honey, with the sour lingering of the wine, "I just."

 

Stiles smiled against his mouth. "I know what to do," he said, "in theory, well, with a porcelain dildo at any rate."

 

How was Derek supposed to cope when Stiles kept saying things like that? He made a sort of noise and pushed the tin to the side, making sure he saw where it landed, he tried to silence him with kisses but for all that Stiles' mouth was eager his hands were worse. Derek, using both hands on his shoulders, turned them so Stiles was underneath him. "I'm going to plow you," Derek told him, "you don't have to coax me, but do you know what I'm going to do first," he leaned in and dragged the tip of his nose up over Stiles' mouth, up the side of his nose to his forehead, "I'm going to finish you with my hand, and then when you're all loose limbed, when you're not so nervous, I'm going to plow you with my tongue, to loosen you up for my fingers, how does that sound?"

 

Stiles made a broken sound, his hand falling over his eyes as Derek sucked a mark unto his collarbones. There was sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat, and with a touch of the lubricant, rubbing it between his fingers to test it, it was much better and less greasy than the oil, he reached down and took Stiles' cock in hand.

 

Stiles was never going to last, he had been hard, Derek thought, since before Derek had come into the room because that's what Adepts did. He wasn't wearing a ring, although that surprised Derek, so he must have been thinking every unsexy thought he could, but three twisting pulls and the boy was bucking up with a cry, his ejaculate splattering against his chest. For all his training Derek knew this was the first time that Stiles had gotten off with anything other than his own hand and he felt proprietary over it, he had done this to this beautiful boy, he had left him with his lips swollen and vibrantly flushed for Derek alone to see.

 

But after tonight Stiles did not belong to Derek alone so he quashed down the pride. Adepts were trained to make their patron feel like the only lover they would ever need, and Stiles would be no different.

 

Derek was not as precious about the taste as Stiles because he licked him clean and didn't bother to rinse his mouth out, but Derek understood, semen was something of an acquired taste, and not something a neophyte could prepare for. Some Houses trained their Adepts before their First Night in that art because they considered that it didn't count for virginity. Stiles tried to bat him away, with a murmur of "too much" but Derek just grinned into the skin before him, the boy was beautiful, he could understand how two of the richest houses in the realm were fighting over claiming him and Stiles had asked Peter to let Derek do this, Derek could do this, he could, he would make it perfect for Stiles, he could break him apart with sensation. He could.

 

Derek suspected he was lying to himself, but he'd been lying to himself for years, this was just another lie upon the pile.

 

He rolled Stiles unto his back, and the boy was as pliant as if he was made of cloth, and hitched the boy up, with a forearm under his stomach and the other he used to part the cheeks of his ass, before he leant in to take a deep breath. Stiles was slick with sweat and he had been shaved here too, in the lamp light the damp skin almost glistened, and he smelt faintly of musk, but also of cypress and juniper and eucalyptus, and more than anything Derek wanted to taste.

 

He didn't know if Jennivere had taught Stiles about this, and she certainly wouldn't have performed it, but the noise that Stiles made when Derek kissed him there, at the start of the crease of his ass, suggested that Stiles had no preparation for this at all. The sound was like he was broken. Heartened and aroused by the noise Derek placed a sucking kiss over the muscle and Stiles groaned like he was deflated.

 

Derek used his tongue fiercely, alternating it with sucking on the muscle and Stiles twisted and stretched and tried to force more of his ass into Derek's mouth, and Derek took great sucking breaths through his nose so he didn't have to stop, even though his jaw was starting to ache. Stiles was muttering, "plow me, plow me," over and over amidst the groans and he had the sheet pulled so taut in his hands he had tugged it clear of the mattress.

 

"You want my fingers, Stiles?" this was comfortable and easy, Derek could do this, dipping his fingers into the lubricant that Stiles had provided and then running the pad of his fingers over the muscles which flexed and twitched, slightly open, from his tongue. Kings weren't rich enough to pay for this sight, Derek thought, Stiles was slim and beautiful and worked open and wanting, wanton and yearning raised up a little on his knees to try and force more of his ass into Derek's mouth.

 

"I," Stiles managed through his litany, "I," Derek pressed his thumb in up to the first knuckle and Stiles yowled like a cat in heat. Derek twisted his thumb, pulling it out as he slicked up two fingers, the lubricant was soft and slightly warm, with a silky texture, and let Derek slip his fingers inside, twisting and rubbing with his fingertips, moving his hand in a steady circular motion to open him up. He was hot inside, and the lubricant made him wet, not like water or oil, but more like silk laid over him and it was taking all the restraint that Derek had not to simply coat his cock and push it into the boy, as Stiles' head thrashed back and forth and the litany of curses and blasphemies he was probably completely unaware that he was making, dragging his cock over the sheet.

 

Derek looked at his cock critically, wondering if Stiles needed a third finger, the boy was already tight, but this was his first time, the one he'd remember regardless, Derek added more of the lubricant before he made a triangle of his fingers and pushed it in. Stiles was biting his lips now, his cock, was hard and hanging between his thighs, his balls, shaved, pulled high and tight. "You could come from just this," Derek asked him, "just my fingers, couldn't you, do you want me to make you? Do you want to come for me?" With his fingers pushed in as far as he could make them Derek pushed his index finger between the other two so that it tapped down on Stiles' prostate. Stiles howled as he came, almost like it had been wrenched out of him, splattering the sheet. Derek spared a thought for the servants who were probably going to have to burn it when they were done, with oil and semen and sweat it was almost certainly ruined, and that was if Stiles hadn't torn it, which he might have.

 

When Derek had served as a soldier he had heard legends about the Night Court, his men seemed to ignore the fact that he had grown up amongst the nobility in Terre D'Ange and if not for the murder of his family he would have lost his virginity in the Night Court like all of the other nobles did, instead of being sent there as an afterthought after a quick fumble in an inn in rage, but one thing they whispered was how sensitive Namaah made her servants, that they were so open to pleasure there were tales of women who had come for hours, who could milk a man till he came blood and did so rapturously. Derek hadn't believed the stories because they were just courtesans trained in the arts of pleasure, they used a pharmacopoeia to achieve their ends, but on the other hand there was a boy in front of him, who was opening to his fingers, and so very responsive, without those drugs. A boy who had sucked him simply because he wanted to know if he had learned the skill well, and whom he had trusted to hold a razor to his throat.

 

Often with lovers Derek was diligent in breaking them apart so they could shudder in his arms, he didn't want that with Stiles, he wanted Stiles to break him apart so he could build him into something as wondrous as Stiles was.

 

He coated his cock with slick, noticing that there was still plenty in the tin, Stiles had clearly underestimated how good this stuff was, before he pulled his other hand, the dominant one, free, and pushed his cock into the loose muscle. Stiles surprised him then, because loose and boneless and wet eyed, when had he started crying Derek wondered, Stiles shoved back hard, pushing Derek to bottom out long before he had intended to. Derek should have seen that coming, he thought, Stiles was never going to be passive.

 

Derek whited out for a second and when he regained his wits, Stiles was wriggling, not writhing, but definitely wriggling, muttering plow me as he arched his back and twisted his hips and stared at Derek over his shoulders, "tell me if I hurt you," Derek said and draped himself over Stiles' back, rolling his hips. Part of him wanted to snap his hips back and forth and just finish because he wasn't going to last, but with the way Stiles was shifting and twisting and pushing back and bearing down that much was impossible, Stiles wasn't hard again, but it looked like his body was trying regardless. "So good," Stiles murmured, "more, please Derek, more."

 

In his head Derek found himself reciting the Creed of faith, in Persis, to try and not come as fast as his body wanted to, he was with Stiles, he was inside Stiles, who was hot and clenching and twisting and oh blessed Elua grant him strength, he pulled back so he was kneeling, pulling Stiles with him so Stiles was splayed over his lap, so he couldn't move so Derek could thrust and throw his fuck up into him, and Stiles was biting his hand, biting his finger enough that there was blood, and the other one was curled around Derek's head and the boy was hard, almost impossibly swollen, his cock was bright red and jerking with the movement in his ass, as Derek used his hand to jerk him off, and he had thought Stiles might take longer to come, it being his third time after all, but no one had explained that to Stiles who with a scream like he was being murdered came all over Derek's hand in a few pathetic splatters, his head falling back and his arms going limp, Derek might have worried for him passing out if he hadn't come himself so hard that they both sort of flopped forward until either of them could breathe.

 

After Derek pulled out, Stiles rolled onto his side, "oh Elua," he muttered to the heavens, "we are so doing that again, but I might need a minute, or twenty, or an hour maybe." Derek, knowing exactly how he felt, just laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

The rain was lashing down in sharp large sheets that were whipped about by the wind as it howled through the trees and catching in the needles of the pine trees. Derek knew the two of them were soaked, even with the oiled goats wool cloaks that they were wearing as they rode. It had been a good idea to spend the day hunting, but then most of the party had headed back when the clouds appeared, but Derek had been stubborn, determined to find at least one deer to take down so the entire day hadn't been wasted, and Stiles offered to stay with him, because they were both competent riders. It wasn't uncommon for the game to be shy when the sun was up and then reappear as twilight neared.

The rain came on quickly, the clouds rolling before a loud crack a boom split the air over the trees and the ran came down in sheets, in thick fat droplets and Stiles, before he pulled up his hood, threw his head back and let it wash over his face. "There's a hunting lodge near here," Derek shouted over the storm,"we can stay there for the night." The winds were picking up and it looked to be a terrible storm that would last at least the night. Derek thought that was kind of a pity because Stiles was here because Derek had arranged it with Peter, Stiles' _Dowayne_. He had bought Stiles' evening and the storm was ruling that out.

Stiles looked like he was about to say something, but instead just turned his head back to the neck of his horse, muttered some reassurance to the beast with a few friendly pats to it's neck and then finally pulled up his hood hiding his expression from Derek.

The hunting lodge was shut down because normally if they were on a hunt that required it's use someone was sent, at worst, at least a day before to open it up, to air the bedding, beat the dust and wildlife from the mattresses and rugs and make sure there was plenty of food and lamp oil and everything else a modern noble needed for their comfortable lives, because as small as the Hale Barony was, if the lodge was being opened the hunt would contain a more powerful and less frugal member of the nobility. When they came across it the shutters were latched, the door locked and Derek had to force it to gain them entry. When the house had been built it had been done so with heavy locks to prevent poachers using it but the same thing made it very difficult to get in, meaning Derek had had to give it several solid kicks to break the lock, and then when they returned to the main manor he would have to send a craftsman to fix it.

He had even had a moment's worry about a constable of the estate finding the two of them and having to explain that he was the Baroness' brother, because most of the estate's employees knew Peter and not him.

The lodge was appointed like a merchant's home with comfortable heavy furniture, covered in sheeting whilst not in use, and a large wide fireplace in the public rooms. There was a well appointed, but bare, pantry and even a fixed bathing room and inside garderobe. There were several smaller bedrooms, none of which were currently available for sleeping with the down mattresses rolled up and damp from disuse, and a small, efficient kitchen. Stiles stabled the horses whilst Derek had fought his way into the lodge.

Inside Stiles threw back his hood and shook the worst of the water from his hair, before scratching his fingers across his scalp. "I think there might be some food in the kitchen, maybe some cheese and preserves, things that will keep." Derek told him, "I'll have a look if you think you can start a fire so we can dry off." He was often surprised by how adult Stiles was when mostly when he considered him it was as the teenage boy who had been his youngest sister's companion. The comparison made him uncomfortable because he desired Stiles as a young courtesan, but had not as his sister's gangly companion.

Stiles grinned at him,"My father made sure I never leave the house without the things to start a fire before my mother died, I can start a fire." He said, "I'm quite the little fire-starter," he said, and there was a joke there that Derek didn't know. Stiles peeled off his cloak to hang it by the main door, which Derek had had to wedge shut, the lock splintered and useless.

Derek just shook his head, spraying water as he did so, and opened the door to the cellar where the non perishable food was stored because even from the hall he could see the pantry was empty.

-

"I found some plums in brandy." Derek said, shouldering open the door,"and some tea leaves, there was some cheese but it was questionable, I don't know if it was blue or," he stopped. Stiles was beside the fire, completely naked and lying on his chest, with a small book in his hands, on a pile of bear skins. The words Derek had been saying were suddenly gone, swallowed up by angels and dust bunnies.

"What?" Stiles said, turning to look at him, "tea?, that would be wonderful, there's a kettle here," he pulled one of the skins around his shoulders,"want me to go see if I can find a pump in the kitchen." He grinned, "or we could just drink the brandy when we eat Peter's plums." He licked his lips, closing his book over and turning.

"Why are you naked?" Derek stammered out. he hadn't been prepared for it. Stiles' nudity was a thing to behold, he was all long, lean limbs and in the firelight with the fur Derek's brain wasn't quite at the status it had been before he had walked into the room. All of his blood had left it and although he wasn't hard yet, it was clear that he was going to be and soon.

"My clothes are soaked through, that cloak might as well have been air for the good it did, I hung them over a chair to be dry for the morning. Now, here's a better question, you're as wet as I am, why aren't you naked?"

Derek blushed, glad of the poor light and the noise outside to hide his colour and the resulting swallow, how could anyone react humanly when Stiles was naked by firelight on a pile of skins, it was the subject of many fantasies all over Terre D'Ange. He knew, he'd been in the city when they had discussed it, and about how it was impossible to get an evening with him, and Derek had almost said, I only have to ask – because it was easy for him because Peter was Stiles' _Dowayne_ , but at the moment the only thing going through his head was – naked. 

[](http://s11.photobucket.com/user/seraphim_grace/media/twbb_zps2a869fe7.jpg.html)

It was better than he had imagined or remembered from their night together before.. Stiles eyes looked dark and the lashes were catching the light as it spilled over the line of his back, over the beginnings of his marque. It was the first time Derek had seen the tattoo.

There were three columbine flowers, outlines at the moment, twisted around a triskele, the Hale sigil worn on their livery, entwined with rose wood that curled down his spine like a serpent. There were ribbons, as yet uncoloured, but not uncommon in marques, creating a knot work with the rose wood around the central design of the gold triskele and the outlined Columbines that sat between his shoulder blades. For all the work that was already in it there was plenty more to do before the rosewood and ribbon would meet in a point at the crease of his ass.

It was unfinished, just a skeleton of what it would be, like a lock beginning to be unpicked, or a tapestry where the bold stitches gave hint of what would be there. It curled up his spine like the palm of a lover, but for all that, for all the nudity that was half shrouded by fur, it was his bare feet that transfixed Derek. Stiles had long toes, and the arch of his foot was high and bony, the sole a rich pink from wear, the colour of his lips but nowhere near as soft. 

Derek licked his lips.

"Derek, you'll get sick," Stiles chided him softly.

Derek blinked, shocked out of his reverie, "yes, you're right," he said putting down the jar of plums on a nearby table, nearly missing the edge, and trying to pull his cloak and boots off all the same time.

Stiles laughed, the fur around his shoulders slipping down around one arm. "We're here for the night," he said in a vague and innocent tone, "however shall we amuse ourselves?"

"There are cards in the drawer," Derek said, wide eyed at the things Stiles was suggesting, even as he tried his best to strip to his skin in seconds. He had practically reverted to a child like innocence. "I didn't find any oil." He added.

"I'm an Adept, Derek, I'm always prepared, and besides, we have fingers, we have tongues, there's a lot you can do without oil." Derek swallowed, suddenly the idea of drinking the brandy that the plums were in was looking better. If Stiles noticed it he didn't say anything, he just turned back to the fire, stretching out his legs,"unless you don't want to, of course, I know you paid for an assignation but we're stuck here for the duration of the storm, it can wait."

"Do you ever shut up?" Derek said, pulling down his pants and stockings with so little care it was a wonder that they didn't tear crossing the room to the pile of furs as Stiles said "no, you love my mouth." Derek silenced him with a kiss, Stiles' mouth was quick and soft and hot, but his skin was still a little chilled from the rain except the cheek nearest the fire which was warm when Derek put his hand on it and pressed Stiles down to the furs.

Stiles kissed like he was drowning, like the world didn't contain quite enough air and he had to suck it from Derek's lungs, he sucked at his lips, pulling and biting at them, coaxing with his tongue. He kissed with his whole being, his fingertips finding purchase on the splay of Derek's shoulder-blades as he rolled his hips, the bearskin still between them, into Derek's.

He made deliciously breathy little moans and sort of yielded into the fur and the weight of Derek. Stiles did this like he did everything, he threw himself at it like a wave in a storm rushing at the rocks, determined to smash himself against Derek, against Derek's hands even as he almost melted under the roughness of Derek's hands, because Stiles' were soft and uncallused, the hands of a raised courtesan, but his fingers were wicked and his mouth was a soft pillow that dragged itself over Derek's scruff, before he cast his head back and gave Derek access to his neck, even as Derek rolled his hips down to meet Stiles.

Stiles pulled the fur out of the way so there was rain cold skin against fire warmed skin and Derek groaned because it made it hard to think, when Stiles was curling his leg, warm from the fire, up over Derek's thigh, and grinding into him just because it felt good, and Derek could feel the rougher skin of his marque on his back against his finger tips as he sucked marks unto Stiles' neck and let the world wash away in the rain in the slip slide of their skin against each other with sweat and fire light and hitching breath and deep groans pulled from the heart of them.

\--

Derek had pulled over one of the chests that had stood against the wall, and draped a fur over it, he sat with his back against it and Stiles in his arms as they stared into the fire. He had twined his fingers with Stiles and he was warm and comfortable, but not sleepy even though he was pleasantly sated, his muscles loose and Stiles smelt of cypress, juniper, eucalyptus and sex in his arms.

"Did I ever tell you about how my grandparents met?" Derek asked softly even as he nuzzled the tip of his nose into Stiles' hair. They were comfortably satiated from the frottage that had taken place and had not taken nearly long enough. "He saved her life like this, in front of a fire with the rain coming down hard outside, but that's me getting ahead of myself. My grandfather was not supposed to be Lord of Hale, and he was a," he paused, fingers twining with Stiles in the boy's lap, twisting in the coarse fur of the bear skin draped over them,"well, he was a bandit really, fourth son, he had no prospects and even less desire to title. It was just after the last great Skaldi invasion and he was making a rather fine living selling things taken from manor houses on the border. He had odd morals, my grandfather."

"I see where Peter gets it from." Stiles agreed, just as completely pleased as Derek was, lazy and warm and a little drunk from the pickled plums.

Derek laughed before he continued, "that's true, apparently he was very like Appa, he was still alive until the fire, but he was a publicly quiet man, well, in Court he never spoke up, he loved nothing more than chasing Cora to make her laugh. He threw me about like a rag doll and I loved him dearly," Derek's voice was quiet and sad, it was only after the fire that Stiles had come into their household so he hadn't known Appa and Ama, or Mama or Papa, or the brother and sisters that Derek lost, the tantes and oncles. He only knew those that were left. "But he was asked to carry a rather valuable item, a blue sandrose, that was almost certainly stolen, from the border at Northern Camlach to the sea at western Siovale, and to not run afoul of the kings-men, whilst he took the sandrose to Eire to finance the rebellion there. He was about my age." He stopped again, just breathing Stiles in.

"But so soon after the war there was plague, a terrible flux that high summer and people dropped like flies. He spent a week with a physician who taught him how to try and treat the flux, but it didn't always work, you had to bring the body up to a fever heat and rub it down with alcohol and hope, but when the doctor succumbed he carried on with his journey. As he crossed into Siovale he stopped in a town for water, and the locals shrieked that he had poisoned their well."

"I thought this was the story of how he met your Ama," Stiles asked, looking up to him. “I was expecting a lot of sex in this story.”

"It is, be patient, you," he bit down on the curve of Stiles' ear as a chide, "you can never wait for things, you're always I want it now."

"It's a character flaw," Stiles agreed, "that I want it now, harder, faster, but you're usually so willing to oblige me."

Derek bit him again. "Brat," he teased but there was no venom to it.

"You love it," Stiles answered with a grin, and Derek did, turning to lie on his side against Derek's chest, "so what happened next?"

"Well, they thought he was a poisoner so all the people who had been hiding in their houses finally had someone to blame, so they chased him, waving kitchen knives and candlesticks," Stiles laughed, resting his hand on the meat of Derek's pectoral, cosy and comfortable with the furs and Derek, "but he managed to escape by breaking into a house, and climbing the stairs. There was a body on them, but he ran right past it, because he knew that they wouldn't dare. They weren't bad people, just scared."

"He was nicer to them than you would have been, you would have glowered at them until they backed down," Stiles was teasing him, he knew it, and Stiles knew it too.

"Appa was smarter than me, he had a tendency to run from mobs with pitchforks." Derek answered, "he was easily the smartest one in our family. I got the glower from Ama." Stiles laughed at that, "but he also knew that it wouldn't take them long before they got over their fear of the body so in Manosque, just inside Siovale, he climbed up on the roof and stayed there for two days."

"Why did he come down?" 

It was a reasonable question, and Derek smiled into Stiles' hair as he answered. "There was a cat," Derek told him, one hand he had twined through Stiles fingers, the other was making lazy strokes along his arm, appreciating how Stiles had curled into him.

"Your family hates cats," Stiles pointed out. That was true, although the manor had cats to keep down the vermin, there were no lap cats that were kept for the sole purpose of keeping cats.

"No one more than Appa," Derek told him, enjoying the very smell of him, the perfume of cypress, juniper and eucalyptus and sweat and the smell from the fire. "And that cat hated him, it kept stealing his food."

"So he fed it." Stiles corrected, Derek supposed it was true, Appa had fed all of the house cats who were kept to kill the mice, and there had always been cats on their bed which he had pretended to protest about, but he always said that it was a cat's fault that he had met their Ama and he was always going to be grateful. Even if he hated cats.

"It stole his sausage," Derek said, "and it started to rain." Stiles snuffed a laugh, then a light yawn, "so he chased it, running over the roofs in Manosque." Stiles laughed again and Derek laughed with him. "In his stockings because he couldn't get purchase with his boots on, so he had them tied with his laces around his neck. Now the cat was clearly the smarter one of the two of them, Appa told us, he said it was the smartest thing he had ever met in his life, and it popped into an open window, with the sausage which he wanted back."

"Nothing comes between the Hales and their stomach." Stiles agreed.

"Very true, imagine coming between Cora and that soft cheese she likes." That was an axiom that had been proven a thousand times - no one came between Cora and cheese. Cora liked cheese much more than people. "So when he chased her in he found Ama, who thought he was a burglar and went after him with a teapot. When he told her what had happened she let him wash his face and brought him tea, stale bread and plums in brandy, it's probably why all of our properties have tea and brandied plums."

"Hmm?" Stiles asked, "we could be eating those plums," he sat forward to grab the jar and Derek immediately felt the lack of him with the cold air rushing in, before he sat back down, "here, use your giant Hale strength and open this." He proffered the jar. It was the second that they had opened.

Derek did so even as he asked, "do you want to hear the end of this story or not?"

Stiles reached into the jar and pulled out one of the plums, popping it into his mouth with a pleased groan that went straight to Derek's cock because it was the same one he made when Derek stroked his prostate, "go on, I'm listening," he held out the next one to Derek, who took it, sucking the tips of Stiles' brandy soaked fingers into his mouth.

"You are wicked," Derek told him, "he fell asleep at the table and both she and the cat were gone."

"They didn't just fall in love, I thought that was it, they met, she brained him with a tea pot and they went back to the Hale lands in L'Agnace to have a hundred babies."

"Appa was a Hale, it's never that easy." Derek snapped at the fingers in front of him with his teeth as if to bite them, "he went to the road, stole a horse and was going to continue on his way, when he met her again, three days later at a roadblock."

"A roadblock?" Stiles asked, even as he offered another plum.

"There was flux, they didn't want it spreading even though they had no idea how it spread, Appa insisted it was the water because he only drank tea which meant boiling it, but he insisted on boiling the water for his bath, but there she was, and when he tried to go around - she followed him."

"And then they went back to L'Agnace to have a hundred babies?" Stiles asked, and then lifted the large jar to take a slurp of the brandy.

"No, you see, he learned as they travelled together, that she was married, she was Paulette de Theus, and was a very proper woman. She was a lot like you." Derek said, and took the jar from Stiles to drink from it himself, "she was into everything in mischief but if you crossed her..."

"You loved her," Stiles said.

"Of course I did, she was my Ama," Derek told him as if it was a perfectly ordinary thing. "She was a mischief maker as well, she liked to put beetles into Laura's shoes to remind her not to be too precious about things, but mostly because she wanted her to squeal and run into her arms to get soothed."

"I never had an Ama, or an Appa," Stiles said, "I had a Mama, and letters from my father, and I had a _Dowayne_ , and a Peter, Peter's something unique, and then there was Jennivere and Melissa, I didn't need a Ama."

"It didn't mean you didn't want one," Derek said, tightening his arms about Stiles, he was so bright and charming that sometimes Derek forgot that he was as fragile as the Hales had been after the fire. "She bullied him all the way across Siovale, until the storm came."

"A storm?" Stiles asked, he licked his lips and then licked a stripe up Derek's pectoral, up over the nipple, "there was brandy," he protested though Derek knew that there wasn't.

"It was a terrible storm so they took refuge in a summer manor, it was empty at the time but Ama insisted that she knew the owners and they wouldn't mind."

"And they fornicated like ferrets and ran off to have a hundred babies." Stiles filled in.

"Which of us is telling this story?" Derek asked him with a chuffing laugh.

"You are." Stiles grinned up at him, before placing a nip on the edge of his chin with his front teeth. It was a mocking gesture because Stiles was clearly ready for more physical interactions, but Derek was going to finish his story first.

"They ate from the house's dry stores and drank their wine until Ama was very drunk."

Stiles interrupted in a knowing manner. "Ferrets."

"No, Appa was a perfect gentleman because he loved her and he didn't want to dishonour her because she was married. But when she went to go to the garderobe she collapsed, she had caught the flux."

"Bad timing, he might have got lucky." Derek tightened his arms around Stiles.

"I'm getting the impression you don't want to hear this story." Derek said, "I don't have to tell you, you know."

Stiles laughed,"I do, but," he sucked Derek's nipple into his mouth, "I'm easily distracted. Tell me later, right now I really wanna," and then he bit down on the nipple.

"You brat." Derek said and rolled them so Stiles was pinned underneath him, which might have been what Stiles wanted all along because the boy was hard against Derek's stomach, and did a full body shudder of delight. Oh, yes, Derek thought, Stiles might want to hear the end of the story, but it wouldn't be tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

Derek looked up from his cup when Orthon opened the door to let the woman in, before he took the opportunity to refill it. He didn't care who came calling. She was tall with long dark ringlets that fell over broad shoulders, there was red taffeta ruffles at each shoulder and the main body of the skirt was a dark chocolate brown and gold brocade. There was the hint of a soft chopine under the skirt and a black voile veil that covered the top half of her face. Her mouth was painted a dark soft red and dominated what he could see, not the golden fabric with the red bodice, or the golden skirt or even the polished wood of her chopines.

"Why didn't you send for me?" she asked with Stiles' voice, "I came as soon as I heard." She reached up with hands that Derek could now see were large and blunt with Stiles' long fingers to up to pull away the veil to reveal his eyes, rimmed in kohl and looking all the brighter for the dark shadow around them. "I was at Lady Martin's Topsy Turvy Ball, Lydia pulled me aside to give me the scolding of a lifetime for being an insensitive asshole, because I didn't know." Around his neck was a gold locket with an enamel design. It caught the firelight. Derek found it easier to focus on those details, if he focussed on that then it hadn't happened, and it wasn't true. "She had to tell me."

His hands pulled up the fabric of his skirt to show the polished wood of his chopines, the raised wooden clogs worn over his shoes to keep his skirts from the muck of the street, and the gold fabric that was wrapped around his feet. He looked like a creature of fire, one of Kushiel's angels and not just an Adept of Namaah. "I'm here, Derek, I was always going to be here." The hands pulled the fabric up around his knees,"why didn't you send for me?" He crossed the floor in quick, comfortable strides, and then in front of Derek, with the skirt rucked up around his thighs and showing his soft white stockings, he knelt on the rug with his head between Derek's knees. "I'm here," he repeated, his fingers finding the ribbon tying the locket's chain around his throat, untying it and pressing it into Derek's hand, "take what you need."

Those clever fingers, painted and hairless, with their strong man's fingers, even where the rest of Stiles had yet to reach his full man's growth, found the buttons of his jerkin, working them open, and then the ties of his points, undoing the flap and reaching inside, pulling out Derek's cock and balls, resting them in his palm. "I'm here," he repeated, and then he reached forward, still on his knees, still in the ridiculous gown and wig that made him look like every Adept in the Night Court, he opened his painted mouth.

Derek, with a belly full of brandy and hurt, knew what Stiles was doing. There were those who believed that when Blessed Namaah had lain with the King of Persis she had done so for comfort and that's what Stiles was doing with his clever mouth. With the locket he had pressed into Derek's hand, his token, he had given him permission with it, he would absolve him for the evening, with his flesh and his presence, and the soft hot tongue that curled around the head of his cock whilst those fingers with their painted nails sat softly under his balls like a promise, how his mouth pushed away all of the things that happened outside this room and how it had destroyed him. He had given him a free evening, his token giving him permission from Peter to do as he would with Stiles as if he had paid for him. So Stiles was going to open himself for him, to allow him to plow him - And Derek was just drunk enough to let him.

It almost looked like a female version of Stiles in front of him sucking him off. Then Stiles pulled his hands away, before lifting off his mouth, wiping it with the side of his hand and smearing his rouge around his mouth, satisfied now with how hard Derek was, his wicked fingers reached up under the black curls and did something, before he pulled off the wig, pins and all, and the white cap he had worn underneath it to hold it in place, the hair underneath slick with curls and twisted from the cap, like it had been tugged by inquisitive fingers, before putting the wig and the cap on the table, out of the way.

His lips were slick now, wettened by his tongue, as he reached up to kiss Derek, his tongue flickering at the seam of his mouth, but Derek kept his lips shut.

This was what Stiles was offering; comfort and a body to hide his pain in.

Laura- his sister, his best friend, his everything- had died, and he had learned of her death today. She had been riding from Skaldia to the Hale lands in L'Agnace when bandits had cut her down and left her lying in the road like she was so much garbage, for little more than the pennies she had carried on her person, and the guards they had paid had looked the other way. 

So Stiles had come to him, had left the Topsy Turvy Midsummer ball and still in his gown and wig and chopines fallen to his knees for Derek to fuck his mouth.

He kicked off his chopines, and still licking his lips, he pulled his skirt up around his waist, one hand reaching behind him and there was a small thunk as something hit the floor, "I prepared myself in the carriage on the way over," he said and climbed up on the bench so that he was straddling Derek's lap, moved Derek's cock into position and biting his lip in such a way that the tip of his teeth scraped away the rouge, pushed down. "Take what you need," he murmured again, burying his face in Derek's neck, his hands on Derek's shoulders and Derek's cock balls deep inside him.

Stiles scraped his teeth over the stubble on Derek's neck and rocked softly, not quite riding him but giving Derek the pleasure of his body and taking nothing for himself. Derek's hands went up to the back of Stiles head, pulling him into a bruising kiss and the boy, usually so intractable, let him move him like he was soft, malleable clay. The taffeta of his gown was hard and slick under his hands so Derek brought both of his hands around to the neck, ripping off the buttons and opening the dress. Stiles gasped, moving his hands from Derek's shoulders, "the buttons at my wrist," he said trying to undo them but Derek just moved his hands back to Derek's shoulders and ripped it open with a jerk of his wrist, first one arm then the other – before he tugged the dress up over Stiles' head and threw it to the side.

Stiles watched where it went, and then with a nipping bite to Derek's lip, he disentangled himself, sliding off Derek’s cock and standing naked apart from his stockings. "I don't care about the dress," he said as he tugged it away from the fire,"but I don't want to die in the night because you didn't watch where you threw it." The marque on his back was painted to completion with cosmetics, the columbine blooms painted in blues and silvers, and the rose wood in greens and red, and the jagged edges of the leaves, and the golden triskele amongst the silver and red ribbons that were twined on his back. For a second Derek wondered if it was not forbidden to display an unfinished marque like it was done, but he figured that Stiles knew best in this matter.

"Do you want to take this to the bed, love?" Stiles asked with a smile, his cock half hard as he gave it slow little pulls, with his painted nails catching the light as he moved his hand.

Derek undid his jacket and threw it behind him, his shirt quickly followed and he jerked his pants down so that they were around his knees, the brandy making him bold. Stiles licked his lips and climbed back on, rutting against them before he floundered around for the locket, opening it to reveal more of Namaah's Kiss, scooping it out and rubbing it between them, Derek was still a little slick from being inside him. "I am yours." Stiles said as he rocked into the gesture, his cock getting hard quickly as Derek put his hand around both of them, giving them something to rut into.

"If I want to keep you forever," Derek asked, sucking marks unto Stiles' neck.

"Then never let me go." Stiles grunted it out, throwing his head back at how it felt as Derek pushed into him hard. 

Derek wondered how much brandy Stiles had drunk at the Topsy Turvy ball but his mouth when he kissed him tasted of cloves and mint and salt as he sucked Stiles tongue into his mouth. The fingertips of his left hand were digging into Stiles' shoulder, the other curled around both of their cocks, and he wanted to pull Stiles into him, to absorb him, to make him part of him so that he could never leave him again; because he wanted more than sex; he wanted more than these assignations- he wanted so damn much.

"Duh, Derek," Stiles said jerking his head away. "Oh, fuck." He was painted like an Adept, his eyes surrounded by kohl and shadow that made the gold colour even brighter, looking ethereal in the firelight. He looked sylvan and fae and about to explode into dust if Derek mis-stepped, or brandy, and fire and how was he real, and here, and whilst Derek held his token - his. And he was letting Derek plow him, letting him rut against him with no more care than if he was a beast because Laura was dead and...

Derek knew why Stiles was an Adept, he knew why the Night Court had purchased him as a fosterling because of those eyes, those damned golden eyes, and a mouth like the curl of a rosebud, dark pink and lush. Namaah's own mouth could not give more pleasure than Stiles'. It was his mind that had caused the problems because the boy was a flibberty-gibbet, dashing between a hundred thoughts at once, and right now, he was Derek's and he had no desire other than to bring Derek pleasure.

Derek bit at his lips and said "stop," and Stiles did, pausing mid thrust like it physically pained him, and maybe it did, before Derek moved him so that he could slip back inside where Stiles was worked open and slick and hot and he could thrust up and watch the way that Stiles hips stuttered on the sensation, the way that his head fell back to reveal that curl of throat and maybe he needed more lube but Stiles seemed to like it more that way, with Derek's fingers squeezing bruises unto his hips. "Elua, you're good at that." Stiles muttered to himself.

With his hands on Stiles' hips Derek lurched to his feet. This angle didn't work for him. He slammed him down on the table in front of them, sweeping cups and the brandy bottle to the floor where it smashed. It was hard enough to bruise but Stiles just grinned up at him, head thrown back as the table groaned, creaking under the force of Derek's thrusts. Stiles wrapped his arms up around Derek's neck and rolled his hips, punching a moan out of Derek.

"De-Derek," Stiles grunted, "this table is gonna," the table groaned,"oh, Elua, don't stop." He pulled Derek's head down into a sloppy kiss. Derek, now with better leverage, stood up, hitching Stiles' thighs about his hips and letting the boy roll his hips, as he bumped him into the door, forcing it open. Stiles' back would be back and blue when he was done, but the boy clearly didn't care. His face was flushed, his hair slick with sweat from more than just having worn the wig with it's muslin cap, his pupils were huge, swallowing Derek down like his swollen lips, before Derek slapped him down on the side of the bed so Derek was standing, throwing his fuck up into him, and Stiles tried to bear down, to tighten his ass around Derek.

The thrusts were pushing Stiles up the bed, rucking the velvet coverlet around him as Stiles dug his nails into his shoulders, probably hard enough to draw blood. This had turned from fucking into something much more primal, this wasn't an Adept Derek was fucking, it was like two animals rutting in the night, and then suddenly there was something wet falling on Stiles face, and Derek realised he wasn't thrusting, he was sobbing, wracking his body with hitching noises he had thought that were moaning.

Stiles just wrapped his arms around him, pulling Derek down into the curve of his neck,"I'm here," he said, his voice was still ragged and broken. He didn't roll his hips or urge Derek on, he just murmured "I'm here," repeated it over and over as he kept placing soft kisses into Derek's hair behind his ear, "I'm here," and Derek just sobbed into his neck, his cock still in Stiles' ass, bent over double over the edge of his bed, with kisses that tasted of brandy and a fine gown ruined on the floor in the other room.

-

Derek woke up a few hours later, it was dark suggesting the fire and lamps had burned themselves out, and he was draped across Stiles' chest as Stiles softly carded his fingers through Derek's hair singing tunelessly.  
 _  
"Know I would never step into your shoes_

_And I'll dance in my chamber without you_

_I'm looking and I'm praying_

_for a place I can dwell in_

_A place where our love can be true."_

Derek didn't know the song. He imagined it was one of the popular ballads but it was soft and easy and he felt worn out, more than just from fucking, as if he were a rag that Melissa had wrung all the water out of before slapping it on the floor. When he was a child, before the fire, Derek had been fascinated with watching Melissa clean the floor in the kitchen. She said a dirty floor led to a dirty kitchen and a dirty kitchen led to sore bellies, so she would use the old rags, ruins of shifts and sheets and the pieces of old gowns too small to stitch into something new, and have the servants on their knees scrubbing with old tack brushes.

When he was very small, when her son Scott was toddling and restrained behind ropes and blankets to keep him and Cora, his milk sister, out of the worst of the kitchen bustle, meaning Derek couldn't have been more than seven or eight, she would sit him on the scullery stool with candied dried fruit dipped in caramel to keep him quiet as he shirked his lessons and watched her clean, singing, and encouraging the other kitchen staff to sing along with her to keep the rhythm in the back and forth of the scrubbing brushes.

Derek's mother had been one of the foremost ladies of the realm, she had not been deliberately distant but her work kept her aloof, apart from gathering them into cuddles and kisses when they were brought to her, and he had loved her dearly, but in many ways Melissa had been the one who had raised them. She had been Cora's nurse but by then she had long since served in the kitchens, rising through her ability to head cook, but she never stopped getting down on her knees to scrub the floors.

With Stiles singing, carding his fingers through his hair he felt like that little boy again, eating caramel dipped apple slices and watching Melissa sing to match the rhythm of her scrubbing. He felt cherished and safe and coddled. He never wanted to leave Stiles arms, to listen to him sing tunelessly, and he never could hold a tune in a bucket, and offer him comfort. __

_Were we never to be forgotten_

_Lay down your sweet head and cry_

_We'll live in dreamland tonight_

_Oh come all ye who are faithful_

_Lay down your sweet head and cry_

"I should have sent for you," Derek mumbled against Stiles' sternum, letting him know he was finally awake.

"Damn right you should have, I wouldn't have left you alone so long if I'd known." He bent down to press a soft kiss to the top of Derek's hair, there was nothing of sex in the movement, it felt so natural and comfortable he wanted to close the curtains to the bed and lock the world away. He wanted to take Stiles and keep him like this for ever, for the outside world to go away, so it was a world defined only by the frame and curtains, where Laura hadn't been killed; where the fire had never happened; where there was just them.

But Stiles was an Adept, he favoured Derek only because Scott had started his indenture as a dog leech by the time that the fire happened so Peter had bought Stiles to help Cora, because Stiles loved Cora and would anything to make her happy, even lying with her brother.

"She was my sister," Derek said, “and they killed her, they left her lying out like trash for the Post to find, and,” And Stiles said nothing, he just lay there with his arms about him and his chin on the top of his head and listened.


	4. Chapter 4

Orthon let Stiles in whilst Derek still sat at his bureau finishing his correspondence. Stiles was wearing a floor length red cape, with a hood pulled up over his head against the rain, and didn't bother to drop the hood until he was at the wine bottle that was left over from lunch. He made a grunt of acknowledgement as Derek turned on his stool to watch him, pouring himself a full cup before he downed it in a few loud gulps. "Even before the rain I have had the absolute worst day." Stiles told him pouring himself a second cup. "No, I have had the absolute worst week."

 

He took a lusty swallow of the cup before he pushed his hood back, to reveal that he was wearing a ribbon unto which had been stitched a pair of fox ears.

 

"I'm getting that impression." Derek agreed, as Stiles undid his cloak, snapping it out so that water landed all over the floor from the heavy rain. There was mud up the sides of his fashionable shoes and splattered up his pants. When he turned around there was a bushy fox tail hanging down between his legs. It had been perfectly preserved and was almost the perfect match for the ears. "Judging by the," Derek made a gesture around the top of his head.

 

Stiles squinted at him before moving his hand to his hair, clearly thinking that he had something, perhaps fluff, stuck in his hair. His hand encountered the ears. "Oh, for Kushiel's sake." He swore, ripping the thing off and throwing it to the ground in a temper.

 

"And the," Derek gestured behind him, where Stiles found his tail, lifting his jacket to reveal the wide cloth ribbon tied around his waist.

 

"Kushiel's balls," Stiles said taking the thing in his hands, "no wonder Deucalion was so strange all afternoon, no one told me. I've been wearing them all day."

 

"How did you not notice?" Derek asked, smiling at him.

 

"I was busy, I've been running about all day trying to sort everything out, there's the thing with Isaac, then the thing this morning, and fuck, I owe Deucalion so many favours so I was playing fucking messenger for him, and there I was under the Queen's seal with a pair of fox ears on. Asshole."

 

"To be fair to him," Derek said, although he didn't want to be fair to him at all, he wanted to run him through and burn the pieces and scatter him to the winds because Stiles was Derek's not Deucalion's. "Deucalion is blind he might not have known."

 

"Yeah but Ennis is not and he's his right hand, the two of them must have been pissing themselves laughing at me, by all the plowing angels, today just can't get any worse, can it? And fuck a duck, I have to go down to the Hale manor tomorrow with the thing about Isaac and..." Holding his tail, probably unaware that he was stroking it, Stiles sat down on the couch. "It's the absolute worst plowing thing." He was sprawled over the couch with his legs open, Derek was pretty sure that Adepts weren't supposed to be so open or foul mouthed, except maybe the Mandrake Adepts and no one was willing to say anything to them, when they wandered around the Masques with floggers stuffed in the back of their pants just in case.

 

"Are you jealous?" Derek asked because Stiles was close to Peter, he must have hated being replaced by Isaac, and no one had expected that Peter would buy out the indenture of the boy, no older than Stiles, and move him into the Manor. All Derek knew about the boy was that he was from Cereus house, which praised fragility, and that he was tall and had curls like a cherub and cheekbones that Cora had said were sharp enough for Derek to shave with. Cora had mentioned him a lot in her last letter because apparently Isaac was adorable, and as skittish as a baby rabbit, and even Jennivere, who was good at faking compassion but had probably never felt it in her life, was sweet on the boy. Why wouldn't Stiles, who was bold and brash and trained by Jennivere, be jealous?

 

"Of Isaac?" Stiles asked, drinking more wine. "I'm the one who told Peter about him, Peter was doing me the world's biggest favour buying him, oh Elua, did I not tell you?" he rolled his eyes, shocked at himself,"you know that I am doing that painting with Finstock for Her Majesty right?" Derek shook his head, because he had not known,"well, _her_ highness wants to gift _his_ highness with a triptych for his birthday, Blessed Elua in the middle with the two side panels being the Five Temptations and the Five Graces made flesh, you know because he chooses the middle path. Well, I'm either one of the graces or one of the temptations, I can't tell because Finstock changes his mind every damn time.

 

“But mostly it means lying naked on a couch with the stars of the Night Court, in my case it's Jackson of House Camellia, and let me tell you he is without fault or flaw in being the most perfect asshole I have ever encountered, Isaac of House Cereus, Boyd from House Jasmine, who doesn't talk, at all, but has arms that may be better than yours, and Danny from House Mandrake, which is really weird because he's just the sweetest person, but I suppose if you spend all day lashing people you wouldn't have a lot of tension either, but Isaac kept showing up all bruised and battered and Jackson eventually revealed that his father was a servant in House Jasmine and he was beating the shit out of him, I mean seriously, he was black and blue." 

 

Derek's hand tightened into a fist, the idea of striking any one- let alone one's son, or an Adept, "and although Jackson's _Dowayne_ knew about it he couldn't do anything because it would be seen as one House malingering against the others and Isaac's _Dowayne_ was turning a blind eye because it meant Isaac could attend parties, which pay better for the House, but not assignations, where he might buy out his marque. So I told Deucalion, because I know the punishment for hurting an Adept and I was at the palace anyway, and Deucalion, even though he's the King's chancellor, said that all he could do was go to the _Dowayne_ to push her into reporting it, which she wasn't going to do, but if I told Peter he might be able to bully her into dealing with it on the side, because he has sway with the Mother's council and reporting it to the law would be better for her than reporting it to them."

 

"So what happened?"

 

"Peter broke a table." Stiles told him,"and Jennivere apparently looked fit to murder someone, you know how she is very good at appearing like she's not evil but once you get to know her you know it's not true." Derek nodded because he did know that, Jennivere had been the Adept he had gone to upon reaching manhood, when he was no older than Stiles was now, and she had laughed at him before she had told him sex was the last thing he needed. "He went straight to House Cereus and told her if she wasn't going to sort it he would, because he's Night Court and he would take it in front of the council of Mothers and they wouldn't be so lenient, and Peter is terrifying when he's angry, he's so cool and calculating, you know he's working out how to wear your intestines as a hat or something, and the scars just make him more terrifying, and she burst out crying and said that she was _Dowayne_ only in name because Isaac's father actually did all the work and she just couldn't stand up to him."

 

Stiles took a breath before continuing in a rush,"I mean like it wasn't a clusterfuck enough, but a _Dowayne_ that doesn't protect their Adepts is a serious thing, so Jennivere took her to Deucalion, because she was more scared of Peter than she was of Isaac's father, which says a lot because she was terrified of him, and Deucalion stepped in, now he actually could, arrested Isaac's father, sold him to the priests of Kushiel for atonement with a minimum sentence of six years, which I wouldn't wish on anyone but I kinda wished on him, and arranged for a temporary _Dowayne_ , which was when Isaac revealed that his dad was only beating him, not for money, as we all assumed, but because Isaac wouldn't let him in among the fosterlings, so the six years was kind of a light sentence.”

 

Stiles took a deep breath before continuing, his hands telling the story as much as his mouth, “Peter bought out Isaac's indenture there and then, because someone so brave shouldn't just be a pretty flower in the Night Court, and it's up to Isaac if he continues to fulfil his marque or he wants it paid off. So, I'm not jealous of Isaac at all, I just hate owing Deucalion the favour."

 

Stiles scrubbed his hands through his hair, "I asked Orthon to draw me a bath, you don't mind, do you?" He stretched his arms above his head, "and," he walked over to Derek and sank to his knees, resting his head against Derek's thigh, "I need this right now." Derek put his hand on Stiles' head, taking long deep breaths of the cypress, eucalyptus and juniper smell of him. Underneath it there was the soft, almost rank smell of someone who had been busy all day; someone who was young and active.

 

"Come here," Derek said, and tugged Stiles up so that he was almost standing, then pulling him into a soft embrace before guiding him to sit on his knee, pulling him against his chest, allowing Stiles to bury his face in the curve of his neck. It was not the most comfortable for Derek, all of Stiles weight was on his thigh which was unsupported but Derek never wanted to let him go.

 

It was not surprising to Derek that Stiles might seek out comfort from him, Stiles' had been purchased as Cora's companion, he had been coddled into Cora's bed when her other siblings had died, he had shared her lessons and her pratfalls. He had been accepted into their family because Scott, who had been her playmate, had been indentured before the fire and was in the local village learning to be a dog leech and Cora had been left with nothing by the fire, just Laura and Derek who were as broken as she was. So when Cora had gone to her brother with a skinned knee Stiles had been there too, when Cora snuggled up next to him on the couch before the fire, Stiles had been on Derek's other side.

 

If Derek was there, not at the front or in the city, when they got sick they would both crawl into his bed. This was no different, this was just a child seeking comfort from his other brother. This would be the last time, Derek decided there and then, it was cruel to cling to this thing that would never happen between them.

 

"He called me a whore, Derek," Stiles said quietly, "I have never regretted the decisions I made that brought me here, until this morning when he called me a whore, when I said I should let that stranger plow me just because I was paid."

 

"Tell me what happened," Derek said, and pressed a kiss to his head.

 

"I was supposed to have an appointment with Finstock over the painting, I was supposed to pose for him on my own, because," Stiles went quiet,"he's done it with all of us, he's crazy but..." He shook his head slightly. "He wasn't there, he was sick apparently, and I wasn't told we were to rearrange so I showed up, his assistant was there and told me," he stopped, "I didn't know he was lying, he told me that the appointment today was for another painting and it had all been cleared by Peter."

 

"I'm guessing it wasn't." Derek said.

 

"Not for Elua's second coming would Peter have approved it." Stiles said, "but I didn't know that, and I was just supposed to be posing for a painting, how bad could it be, right?" He leaned in closer, putting more of his heat and weight on Derek's chest with his arms tight around Derek's arms which were wrapped about him. "He made me strip, and put on those damn ears and tail, but it's for a painting, so who am I to argue with his vision?" he was quiet for a few moments, "then he introduced me to this man and told me I was supposed to fuck him so he could paint it. Like I was worth nothing more than that, and when I said I don't do that he slapped me and called me a whore, and told me fucking was all whores like me were good for."

 

"What did you do?" Derek asked as he planned a horrible painful death for the painter.

 

"That was when the other man grabbed me, so I punched him in the dick," Stiles said, "just like Jennivere taught me, I slapped Daehler so hard his lip split, as he spat filth at me, so I dressed and got out of there. I didn't know what to do, so I went to the Night Court, to the first house I found and the _Dowayne_ told me that it was my fault for being unaligned with a house, the plowing _Dowayne_ of Camellia house just repeated what he said, that I was just a very expensive whore." Derek added another name to the list of people who needed to be destroyed for hurting Stiles, for making him this fragile when Stiles was stronger than all of them.

 

"I went back to my lodgings, I didn't know what to do, and I checked with Tristan and I didn't have an appointment with Daehler so I went to Deucalion." He stopped, "I am the Adept of the Queen and the Dowager," Derek stifled the jealousy he felt surging up within him, that other people could see Stiles when he was _his_ , but Stiles wasn't his, Stiles belonged to Peter and Peter could do with him as he willed. "I thought, fuck it, if I'm a whore I'm the queen's plowing whore and I have influence with the plowing chancellor, I can get him to fight my battles for me." That sounded like Stiles, "and now I know I've spent all afternoon with him and I had a pair of plowing fox ears on my head. That'll be why Ennis couldn't stop laughing."

 

"In his defence," Derek said, "Deucalion couldn't tell you, being as he's blind."

 

"Ha de fucking ha ha," Stiles said, "but thank you, for this." He sighed out, hot and moist on Derek's neck, "I just," he stopped again, "yeah, I just, I'm not a whore, Derek."

 

"No, you're an Adept," Derek said, "and you're fierce and that little fuckwit better watch his back, and the _Dowayne_ of Camellia House, she's just jealous that she could have been the one to raise you and she didn't, and now you're the Adept of the Queen and the Dowager, you can walk into the office of the chancellor and know he will listen to you, and not one of her Adepts can claim that, because you are magnificent." It was easy to say those words, "you are a chosen of Namaah, and you praise her with your body like every other Adept in the entire of Terre D'Ange, and you are my Adept, and you are Cora's Companion and Peter's heir."

 

Derek heard Stiles swallow. "Do you think Orthon will have the bath ready?" he asked eventually.

 

"Probably," Derek said though he didn't want to, he wanted nothing more than to keep Stiles like this forever although his leg was numb and his ass hurt from the weight of the two of them on his hip and the stool was cutting into the back of his thigh. "He is very good at his job." For a brief instant that was exactly the reason Derek thought that he would let his manservant go.

 

Stiles stood up, then quickly, like a hummingbird, laid a single soft kiss on Derek's mouth, before he took Derek's hand to lead him into the other room where Orthon would have drawn the bath. "Come with me." He said in a quiet voice, like he was scared that he would be denied. Right now Derek would deny him nothing.

 

And that was exactly why he was going to break off their arrangement after this, he wouldn't send to Peter asking for an assignation, he wouldn't track with a lump in his throat the growth of Stiles' marque, he wouldn't ask for the boy at social engagements Derek could not avoid that were only made bearable by Stiles' laughter, he wouldn't reach out to touch what he had not paid for. Stiles wasn't a whore, he was something infinitely more precious than Derek could articulate, and he was not Derek's.

 

He would return the token, he would tell Peter that there would be no more contact between the two of them because Derek couldn't take it. Stiles was a star of the court, his marque almost complete. He wouldn't want to shackle himself to an assignation like the Hale Baron, he had better things to do with his time than spend time with Derek. It would destroy him, but Derek would let him go. He would make Stiles understand that the debt was paid, that he didn't need to do more to thank the Hales for what they had done for him, he had served with Cora and that had been enough.

 

And if Derek's heart broke in that bath with Stiles pressed to his front and the cypress, juniper and eucalyptus smell of him in his nostrils it was no one's business but Derek's. He would send him away – and he would never send for him again.


	5. Chapter 5

Lady Lydia Martin was a tiny creature, in an elaborately fashionable green and gold gown with a hint of her chopines peaking from under her skirts. She had large brown eyes and bronze coloured curls that were styled into an artful fall over one shoulder. "I am very vexed with you." She said as she pushed past Orthon, entering Derek's private sitting room without invitation, to look at Derek with her perfect mouth in a moue of displeasure.

 

"I am sorry, my lady, but I do not know you beyond your reputation." Derek told her wondering why the lady had invaded his apartment when he had never spoken more than a few words with her, although she was friendly with Cora she did not move in the same circles as Derek did and so they had no reason to interact.

 

She reached up and removed a hat that Derek had not noticed from her hair, handing it to Orthon, then removed her gloves. She didn't walk across the room as much as glide on shoes that were tall enough to make her stand equal to his shoulder, although he knew that she wasn't much larger than a child, but when she spoke she filled the room and made her seem larger than she was. It was a rare ability and he was willing to admit that he was a little cowed by it. "Are you going to get me a drink?" She asked Orthon, "or shall I stand around parched all day?"

 

Orthon bowed his head and left substantially quicker than he normally did. "I don't know how much you reveal to your manservant," she said sweeping out her skirt to sit on the bench before the fireplace, and gesturing with her head to the couch that faced it, "and I did not want him overhearing your secrets."

 

Derek did trust Orthon with everything, he had been with Derek through everything since the fire; he knew everything, not that there was much to know. But Derek still understood why Lydia had sent him away, the vast majority of the gossip that flooded the town came from the servants, even those who were trusted. "Because you, Derek Hale, are an idiot."

 

"I've heard you're looking for a husband," Derek answered, seething in rage, his fists clenching either side of his legs where he sat. "I'm not interested."

 

Lydia slipped off her chopines and pulled her legs up unto the couch, before looking him up and down. "No," she said, dismissing him completely, "you're far too hairy for my liking, perhaps if we held you down and shaved you, but then you might look like a mangy bear. I have delicate skin, I have no intention of going through life stinking of aloe just because you thought we'd be a good match, and besides if you have heard so much you would have heard that it is your uncle that my mother seeks negotiations with, not you."

 

"And you want me to break them off."

 

"No," she answered again with a mocking smile, "I am perfectly aware of your uncle's peccadilloes and it suits me for now to be spoken of as courting him."

 

Derek corrected her. "You can't trust him."

 

"And I don't." She replied with that sweet mocking smile,"I know him, and if my mother is wasting her time negotiating with your uncle I am free to pursue my own goals. Marrying your uncle would free me up for my studies, and that is the secret I will share with you in exchange for this intimacy, I wish to spend my life in books, marrying Peter allows that, he is pressurised by society to take a new wife, thus we have a mutual goal. It is that simple, Derek, and that is not why you are an idiot."

 

"Then enlighten me." 

 

The tip of her toe was peeking out from under her skirt where she sat, supine, on his couch facing him. "You made Stiles feel like a whore." She said bluntly.

 

"How dare you?" he asked, trying and reasonably succeeding to control his rage. "You come into my house..." The words were gone.

 

"Yes, I dare," she answered, "because I adore the boy, because I have adored him since we met two years ago, because he's the only boy in all of Terre D'Ange who took the time to learn that I loved to read." Her tone was ice cold, "because he has spent the last two weeks in Siovale at the coast trying to recover from what you did to him, because I was the one he came to and because he promised me that he knew what he was doing and you obviously didn't care enough to at least pretend you cared."

 

"He's in love with you." Derek answered, "and he has been since he was ten years old."

 

Lydia Martin, noted beauty of Terre D'Ange and celebrated wit at seventeen years old, laughed like he had told her the greatest joke in the world. "No, Derek," she corrected him, "he is in love with what I am, not who, he admires my wit and my freedom and thinks I'm beautiful, he loves the idea of me, he loves the idea of being me, but me, myself, no, we're too alike for him to actually be in love with me." She was condescending in the way she said it, "I represent everything he has worked towards, everything he can only achieve through service to Namaah that was mine from birth, and he resents that I can go to the University in Rocaille and he can't because of his service to Namaah." She stopped, "you don't know, do you?" she said then. A curious calm crossed her face, her mouth falling open. "Then Theoderic Hale you are certainly the biggest fool in all the world."

 

"Leave." Derek growled at her.

 

"No," she answered again, "because you broke his heart and all I can do to fix it is this. You used him, that's fine, no, it's not, but it's understandable, he's beautiful, he has the most amazing soul, and given the opportunity to be near it you paid his price, but then you continued to pay it, you wanted to bask, I understand that, even as his star continued to rise, but you don't get to call him a whore."

 

"I didn't." Derek protested, not sure why he was so angry at this tiny girl in front of him, one he could snap like kindling.

 

"Maybe you didn't know he was in love with you, maybe you just wanted a warm body who understood you, sometimes that's all anyone wants, but you don't get to leave him just because you realised he needs you more than you need him."

 

"I couldn't afford him." Derek answered, furious now with this girl's presumption, he was in an almighty rage and the words were gone, "he had almost finished his marque what was I supposed to do when Peter wasn't his _Dowayne_ any more? how was I supposed to court him when the Queen and the Dowager and the plowing chancellor and the Bhodistani ambassador are courting him? when he's one of the King's five temptations and I'm just a Baron?"

 

Lydia made an oh shape with her mouth, her head moving backwards. "There is a lot you don't know," she said like it was a huge revelation. She moved, her corset creaking with the motion, "and I think I might be speaking out of turn." That that was a consideration now surprised him. "He has been in love with you since you dived into a duck pond to save him from drowning. I think he was before then, but he didn't know for sure until then." Stiles had been eleven years old then, a member of the Hale household for less than a year when the dock he had been standing on collapsed underneath his horseplay. "His Marque is paid in full," she continued, "and was from his first assignation, your uncle set his marque, his entire indenture, at twenty sous."

 

Twenty sous was a pittance, the marque of a mediocre adept could measure in the thousands, an Adept like Stiles should have been in the tens of thousands. Twenty sous was the price of the inking, a cheap pair of used shoes cost more than twenty sous.

 

"It's not finished because he keeps passing out and despite his arguments to the contrary the Marquist won't work on him whilst he's out cold. When he came to the Topsy Turvy Ball he had it painted in full, an Adept can be struck off the rolls for that. I thought you knew, he thought you knew, even Peter thought you knew." She said that last one aghast.

 

"Derek, he became an Adept to be with you, to be your equal so when you wised up and fell in love with him too no one would question him being at your side, he bought a paper mill and printing press on lands next to yours because he's been stupidly in love with you for years and he wanted to be self sufficient so no one would think you were keeping him." 

 

She stopped. "What do you know about his mother?" She asked then, seeming to change the subject.

 

"He never speaks of her." Most of the time when he and Stiles were together they snarked at each other, each baiting the other with innuendos and insults in a bizarre ritual of foreplay. They never spoke of the past. Stiles teased him about his hair and his bulk and his demeanour and he teased Stiles about his mouth and his hands and his laugh. It was what they did.

 

"She was a failed Adept," Lydia told him, "Claudia was supposed to be Eglantine House until another Adept candidate splashed her with boiling water, scarring her badly. The other Adept was driven out of the Night Court, but Claudia was considered failed. Her indenture was sold to the herbalist of the Night Court, and she married for love." That was something strangely frowned upon in Terre D'Ange where love was supposed to reign free. One might bed where one wanted, but one married for one's family, or one's House. Claudia should have married where the _Dowayne_ of Eglantine told her. 

 

"Stiles was raised in the Night Court, in it's herbary learning all the dark secrets of all the Adepts before he could walk, and when she died, the woman she left him with until his father returned sold him to House Eglantine that they might reclaim his "fine eyes and mouth"." Derek knew what that meant, Stiles would be raised as an Adept, and used to breed another girl that they might profit from it. It was what the Houses of the Night Court did, but Stiles was worth much more than his eyes and mouth.

 

"Do you know why your uncle picked him to be Cora's companion? Out of all the Adept-potentials, he picked Stiles because he thought that he, too, was lonely. Peter is many things but he is a good judge of character." That was true, it was how he destroyed people so well. "He chose him because he didn't want to be an Adept, but yet that boy _chose_ to be an Adept so he could stand next to you, and you threw him away like he was a used rag." She curled her lip, "everyone he has loved has left him, so why should you be the exception?"

 

"You're right," Derek said finally feeling as if Lydia had cored him like an apple, "I am a fool, the biggest fool in all of Terre D'Ange because I didn't know," he continued, "he is the Queen's Adept, I'm just a Baron, how am I supposed to compete when he is so much?"

 

"Do you even talk to him?" Lydia asked, "or do you just spend all the time plowing his ass?" She tilted her perfect head in disgust, "he is the Queen's Adept because she can't have one who is affiliated to a house of the Night Court. She is heavily pregnant and her feet hurt and her ankles are the size of melons, he rubs her feet. That is what she pays him for. The Dowager, he reads her the latest erotic novels because her eyes are going, and laughs with her. He attends plays and operas with the Bhodistani Ambassador and carries her messages to the Captain of the Guard, and he carries messages for Chancellor Deucalion and tells him the gossip he hears, all of which he is paid an Adept's wage for. The only person in all of Terre D'Ange he has served Namaah with is you." She swung her legs down and kicked her feet into her chopines in a practised move. 

 

"That boy made the decision to be an Adept because he's in love with you, the question remains Derek, because I'm thinking that maybe you love him too, and the reason you pushed him away is because you have misunderstood what he is, so are you going to Siovale to win him back, or are you going to stay here and wallow?" She stood up, smoothing out the stiff fabric of her skirt so it fell in perfect folds over her feet, "all of which you would know if you had ever bothered to actually talk to him. Elua knows you don't deserve him, but it's his decision, not ours. So if you want him, go and get him, and if you don't - at least have the decency to stay away." 


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles was sat in one of the parlours of the Hale Manor, curled around a cup of steaming hot wine, he wore a loose fisherman's sweater against the incoming winter with the neck slipped down to reveal a hint of colour from his finished marque and the long curve of his neck. He had cut his hair so it was close to his head at the back with a finger's width at the top, just long enough to twine fingers through. There was a fire burning in the grate and where Derek stood at the door, having just entered, it was still cold, but there would be a puddle of warmth around the fire, he knew because he could see Stiles' feet, which were bare tugged up on the blanket draped over the bench he was sat on.

 

"Are you going to come in or not?" Stiles asked, he didn't turn around, "You're letting the cold in. I might be angry at you, right now, but I'd rather be pissed and warm, you can freeze for all I care." There was a hint of vitriol in what he said.

 

"I was told you were at Siovale." Derek said, and tugged the door closed behind him, before fixing the curtain down over it. It had been one of the changes Jennivere had made in the more private parts of the Hale manor, the parts that guests never saw where Derek was just one of them and not the Baron of Hale. There was cloth over the shutters to keep the drafts out but the manor was old stone that took the winter from the start of the year and kept it as long as it could, saving it for the long nights and bad afternoons where the wind whipped around the old building in throaty moans and painful groans. Almost every room in the manor had a fireplace, but this was one of the smaller, intimate parlours where old furniture migrated, and the rugs on the floor were mouse eaten and threadbare. It had always been Stiles' favourite of all the rooms, his preferred one for vanishing with one of the books from Peter's library and a bottle of wine mulling in a pot hanging from the fireplace's trivet.

 

"Lydia thought it would be more dramatic if you went chasing after me, she might have wanted you to suffer some." Stiles said, taking a swallow from his cup, there wasn't a book in his hands, Derek noticed as he walked across to him, sitting in the old armchair with the seat pillow torn and darned together with thick black thread. He had been sat here drinking and staring into the fire.

 

"She came to see me." Derek told him, "she called me an idiot." Derek saw another of the pewter mugs on the floor, Stiles had clearly planned this after their awkward dinner following Derek's arrival. He didn't say anything when Derek picked up the mug and took some of the wine.

 

"She doesn't care for fools." Stiles said, "she has no time for idiots or idiocy."

 

"She's planning to marry Peter." Derek felt he had to tell him that all of a sudden.

 

"It suits her." Stiles answered, "it gives her access to a title which removes her parents from her life, and Peter is enchanted with her intelligence, he has already spoken of sponsoring her entrance to the university at Rocaille, something she can only do as a married woman. She would have no more responsibilities than she does now and it means she can remain with Cora." Stiles took a swallow of his wine but he didn't look at Derek, "they're fucking, you know."

 

Derek spat the wine he had been about to swallow out.

 

"Ah," Stiles said, "you didn't know." Stiles wasn't wearing pants, his fisherman's sweater, made of thick soft wool and hanging around his shoulders to show off the lovely line of his throat fell to his knees, and he was curled up under it. It looked warm and soft. Jennivere had taken to knitting when she had moved to the manor, she had willingly left the City of Elua and taken to the homespun crafts with a sort of zeal. She had unwillingly taught Stiles the art of the Adept, but she had taught him well.

 

"I thought they were friends." Derek told him, and took a long swallow of the wine.

 

"It's one of the reasons Lydia is letting Peter court her, no one questions when they're together then. Lydia is almost one of us." Stiles sounded sad, "It's why she's been interfering. Look, I understand, you came back for Peter, I'll leave you be." Stiles drained his mug and stood up, putting it down on the hearth, his bare legs were golden in the light. More than anything Derek wanted to touch him. "You're not responsible for how I feel and she had no right to tell you."

 

"I love you." Derek blurted the words out, "I," and like that the rest of the words on his lips were gone, like they had been sucked out of him with all the air in the room. "I was scared, Stiles, I'm not good for you."

 

Stiles' face fell. It crumbled and his mouth fell open, his bottom lip glistening. "You asshole." He said in a whisper, "you plowing asshole." His hands were clenched in fists at his side, there was an angry flush on his neck. "You think you can just say that to me." He took a long slow deep breath through his nose closing his eyes. "You think you can be that much of a plowing asshole to me just because you're Derek plowing Hale." He slammed his fist down on Derek's chest and Derek just stood there and let him. "You think I'll forgive you just because you know what to say, because I'm that plowing gullible, that I'll believe you just because you say you love me, well plow you, Derek, plow you."

 

There were tears in Stiles' eyes and it hurt Derek like a knife in the belly. "You don't get to tell me how I feel, you don't get to manipulate me," he was slamming the sides of his hands down on Derek's chest, "you didn't want me, you don't get to change your plowing mind now."

 

"Stiles," Derek said, his head down and his words like ash in his throat. "I," Stiles was still beating at his chest, the breath shuddering out of him in rage and hate and pain. More than anything Derek wanted to bury his nose into the side of his head, to breathe in the smell of him, mulled wine and spice and under it the clean crisp smells of cypress, juniper and eucalyptus, in what Derek now knew to have been a signature scent created entirely for Stiles by the pharmacists of the Night Court. It was another reminder of just had badly Derek had failed him.

 

"I thought I couldn't have you." Derek said, "I," how was it the words were evading him now, when he wanted them so much to make sense, to explain.

 

"I gave up everything for you." Stiles said, taking a half step forward, "I made myself an Adept for you, and the last thing I wanted was to be a whore." He was half sobbing, his hands making fists in Derek's shirt, "you made me your whore." He took a second deep breath through his nose, before he made a deep snuffle, snorting up mucus and tears with a wet rattle.

 

"I didn't mean to," Derek murmured wrapping his arms around Stiles so the boy could cry into his arms, "I didn't know." Stiles collapsed around him sobbing and shuddering in his arms, with his ridiculous hands balled up in Derek's shirt. "I didn't think I could have you. I didn't think I could keep you." The words were just falling from him as Stiles cried, "I'm not good for you. I've lost everything, I thought I was going to lose you, I thought," he stopped, "I thought when your marque was complete you wouldn't be mine any more."

 

"I wanted to keep you forever. I always wanted to." Stiles sobbed into his chest, "I asked Peter about your indenture, about making you mine, but then I hated myself, I," Stiles lifted his face up, face red and eyes swollen, he could see the indents from his teeth in Stiles' lips where he had bitten them, "you're so beautiful," Derek muttered.

 

"I'm a mess," Stiles said but he didn't wipe at his face, as it would have meant letting go of Derek's shirt, "I'm," Derek kissed him.

 

Stiles tasted of salt and he sucked on Derek's lips like he could take them for himself, like he could pull the very air out of Derek's lungs. One hand clutched Derek's shirt and the other was on his arm, like he was scared that if he let go, for even a second Derek would be gone. "So beautiful," Derek murmured between kisses, wondering if he was dreaming when he had Stiles in his arms. He had not thought he would be forgiven, and had expected to get at least punched for it. "Please say I can."

 

"No," Stiles said, stealing another kiss from him, then another, then another. "I'm not going to fall for it again." Then he pulled away, moving to the door that led to the stairs and away from Derek.

 

"I came here to tell my uncle I was going to Siovale to get you, I was going to give you the huge gesture you deserve. I was going to find the money to pay your marque, I was going to do all of those things, and I didn't, because I'm a coward." Derek admitted it. "I was so scared I was going to lose you, to lose what we had, that I pushed you away, and I'm sorry."

 

Stiles eyes flashed with anger then, his lips narrowing. "Sorry," he said, "Sorry? I became an Adept so you would look at me, so that if you became my lover no one would question why, I told Peter to only accept assignations from you, even though he told me I was making a mistake. I bulled on through because I thought I could make you love me, and when I realised I couldn't, do you know what I did, I went to your bed, because it was the only way I could have you. I'm not going to bow, Derek, I'm not going to just give in because you " _love me_ " or you think you can hire me for less than you were paying. Lydia should have kept her mouth shut, you don't get to manipulate my feelings for you."

 

"How can I prove how I feel to you? Do you want me to give up my title for you, because I'll give it to Peter now if you want. Do you want me to shout it from the rooftops of the royal palace? because I'm told you can get me in to do it. I don't know what you want, Stiles, I'm trying to make up for leaving you that morning and telling you I would never request you again, that I never wanted to see you again. I'm trying to apologise for being scared and running away, for making you feel like I didn't want you, when I wanted you so much I couldn't think, I don't know what you want, tell me."

 

Stiles wavered for a moment. "I want you to leave me alone." He said. "I want you to be happy and,"

 

He stopped then because he must have seen something on Derek's face, perhaps he even heard the noise of Derek's heart breaking, maybe it reflected in his eyes or the set of his mouth. "I can't do this, Derek, I've lost too many people to let you use me, I'm sorry."

 

Derek let out a breath that he hadn't known he was holding. "I don't want to use you, I want to make you laugh, I want to complain to you that my feet are cold. I want you to whine when the shutters rattle in the storms or how the Manor sounds like someone being murdered when it's windy. I want you to smile for no apparent reason and know that you're happy. I want so many things but I've," he stopped, "when I lost Laura you came to me, you knew I needed you and you came. I," there was another pause, "I'm so sorry for the way I made you feel, I thought you didn't want me, I thought you only came because I was Cora's brother, because you felt you owed me, I thought," he paused, licked his lips.

 

"Before the fire my mother bought me a night at the Night Court," that was unremarkable, "I went to Heliotrope House because that is the one my family was most associated with. I thought I loved her," he stopped, his eyes were picking out the worn and faded pattern on the carpet rather than look at Stiles, "because she made me think she loved me, it's what they are trained to do, and the mistake I made, I thought I loved her so much I just lay there with her, a kings ransom for a boy who wanted to honour her by not treating her like a Adept." He stopped, sighing as he searched for the word, "I thought that was what all Adepts do, because the Adepts of Heliotrope do that. I thought that it was what you were doing. I was wrong." He raised his eyes to Stiles then. "I was wrong. I thought when you promised me forever it was just what you were taught to do. I thought when you said you wanted me it was because it was what you were supposed to say because otherwise," he closed his eyes, "because otherwise I might lose you too."

 

"I was wrong, Stiles, and I don't know how to make it right. If I could I would marry you now, I will give up my title and wealth if it means I get to have you, I was scared, you were becoming so popular and I'm just a lowly baron, I,"

 

Stiles slapped him, hard and open palmed across the face. Derek figured he deserved it. "Theoderic Hale you are a good man who has made some bad decisions and had a terrible life, if you speak that way again I'm going to assume you are insulting me because I love you, and I wouldn't love an idiot. So the next time you speak of yourself like that I'm not going to just slap you, and ouch by the way," he flexed his hand, "your jaw is like granite, covered in sand, I don't know if I've broken my hand or just peeled the top layer of skin off." He shook his hand out. "You don't get to criticise me or my taste," Stiles said then, "because I'm really angry at you."

 

"I don't blame you for it," Derek agreed. "I, I was wrong and I made an assumption, I didn't know your marque was finished and I was so scared that when it was, when Peter had no more power over you I would never see you again. You're the Queen's Adept, you talk about Deucalion like he is Cora when to the rest of us he is something to be feared. You spent nights with the Bhodistani Ambassador, I couldn't compete with that."

 

"I rub her feet, you'd be better at it, your hands are bigger." He put his hand around Derek's wrist and even with his large palms and long fingers it didn't go all the way around. "And the Queen Mother asks me if I'm ever going to arrange a showing with that handsome young man of mine because she has a filthy mind and thinks that seeing the two of us fucking would make her winter. I am in an odd position, Derek, I'm not affiliated with the houses so I don't have their advantages and I don't have their protection, but it means that people who can't favour the houses will come to me. Her majesty's feet hurt, and her highness can't just ask someone to read the filth she wants," he stopped, "and it's filthy, I gave some to Danny and he was shocked and he's Mandrake House, I mean he flogs people and cuts people and there was one guy with a dildo the size of your arm, and he was shocked, and," Stiles shut himself up by kissing Derek, then resting his forehead against Derek's, "it's, anyone could do what I do, the only reason they don't is politics. I'm lucky, Derek, nothing more, and I thought you knew."

 

"No," Derek answered, close enough to Stiles' mouth he could taste the wine on his breath, sweet with orange and cinnamon. "I was stupid and wrong and,"

 

Stiles silenced him with another kiss. "Lydia shouldn't have meddled," he said against his mouth, "but I'm glad she did."

 

"She wanted you to be happy." Derek told him, his lips so close to Stiles' he could feel them when he talked.

 

"No, she wanted you to suffer." Stiles corrected. "You hurt me so she wanted to wrong you, she wanted you to go to Siovale to make a fool of yourself, she wanted you to go all the way there and then I wouldn't be there and." He moved his hands so they were around the back of Derek's neck. "I," he stopped.

 

"Can I see your marque?" Derek.

 

"No," Stiles said with a smile, looking into his eyes, "it's all finished now, and," he then took a step backwards, "are you going to take me to bed, Derek? If I give you my token this time, will you keep it? You won't just give it back to Peter like you did last time?"

 

"Your symbol is the Columbine flower isn't it? it's the flower you chose to be represented in the Night Court?" He asked, although he still had Stiles by the hand, unwilling to let him go for even a second. Stiles nodded. "Will this count as keeping your token?" He used a free hand to tug back the sleeve of his shirt, tattooed there on the skin of his wrist, with their vines twisted into a triskele was three columbine flowers. It was the symbol on the golden locket that was Stiles' token. It had been tattooed unto his skin like a miniature version of Stiles' marque.

 

"Take me to bed." Stiles said, moving towards the door and the stairs, kicking his feet into his slippers, "but if you hurt me again," he said looking over his shoulders, "I'm letting Lydia disembowel you," He stopped for a moment,"no, I'm going to arrange a showing between her and your sister and make you attend and watch."

 

Derek stopped,"I can't promise to never hurt you again," Derek said, "I can only promise to try not to"

 

Stiles reached down and pulled his sweater up over his head, dropping it to the floor and standing there naked but for his slippers against the stone floor. "Are you coming?"

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for The Night Flowers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081763) by [aredblush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aredblush/pseuds/aredblush)




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